Fabrications
by Fain Oakenbringer
Summary: SUSPENDED. The Malfoys as spies...for Dumbledore? Impossible! But of course...how else could the plan be so foolproof, so perfect? But when Draco is forced to follow in his father's footsteps, problems arise...he'd never been a big fan of the plan... AU,
1. Headlines and Headaches

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait, I know I said it would probably be out before December, and now it is December. I'm terrible. I know. But hopefully this will make up for it :P**

**That said, I hope you all enjoy this…happy reading! Oh yes, and Draco _does_ appear in this chapter – a lot.**

**Thanks to my beta-reader Soror Ava for beta-ing for me :P**

**FABRICATIONS**

**Chapter 1**

"Death-Eaters escape Azkaban," the headlines of the _Daily Prophet_ declared. Harry Potter placed the paper atop his desk and sighed. It was to be expected, especially with the Dementors leaving the wizard prison but that did not make the news any easier to take. Voldemort had his supporters back at his side now. In the light of the recent disappearance of Cornelius Fudge Harry could not help but wonder what else Voldemort had planned. Did he already have an attack ready to be executed once Lucius Malfoy and the other Death-Eaters made their way to him?

The phone rang. Harry ignored it, knowing it could not be for him. He turned his thoughts instead to the disappearance of the Minister of Magic and the wizarding world in general. With no Minister the wizarding world seemed to flail, and with that Dumbledore had stepped in. He'd offered to help and the world had accepted. Two weeks had passed already and Dumbledore had not yet left.

Someone thumped up the stairs. Harry thought it was Uncle Vernon but he could not be sure.

Things had been very different at Number 4, Privet Drive since Harry's return from Hogwarts. Now he was free to do pretty much anything he wanted and the Dursleys hardly ever threatened him. In fact, they were constantly nervous when Harry was around them and seemed just as anxious as Harry for the summer holidays to end. Harry found it easier on everyone, including himself, to stay out of their sight, or the house. Harry couldn't say he particularly enjoyed this new attitude because it was a bit disconcerting at times, but it did mean he could do anything he wanted.

A knock came on the door and Uncle Vernon popped his head in. "Phone call for you," he said gruffly before disappearing down the corridor.

A phone call? For him? Who on earth would want to call him? Harry scrambled out of his chair and out the door, knowing Uncle Vernon was just as surprised as he was.

Harry reached the living room and picked up the receiver. "Hello?" he said tentatively.

"Harry?"

"Mr. Weasley?" Though still puzzled Harry had to admit he welcomed the call. "What – why –?"

"Bad news, Harry. You're not to leave your aunt and uncle's house and wander the streets … You-Know-Who may attack you and even with the surveillance we don't want to risk the chance of him attacking and succeeding."

Letting go of the fact that he was still under surveillance and not being told about it, Harry said, "But you don't know that he's planning on attacking me. Besides, it would be hard for him to sneak up on me with someone watching – whoever it is will be bound to notice something wrong."

"And yet he may not," Mr. Weasley said. "Dumbledore seems to think there's a good chance of You-Know-Who launching an attack, even if he isn't actually one of the attackers. It might even be an attack planned to fail, just to rattle us – but there is a chance the attack could succeed and we don't want to take that chance."

_If I'm going to be murdered_, Harry thought, _it'll be by Voldemort. Of course if I just stood there and let a Death-Eater curse me … _"So I have to stay indoors?"

"It's the only place You-Know-Who can't get to you," Mr. Weasley said apologetically. Harry saw Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley peek out from the living room doorway. "That's not to mean you'll have to stay with your aunt and uncle for the entire holidays, Molly and I would love to have you over, that is to say, if you want to –"

"I'd love to," Harry interrupted. "I love going to the Burrow … when can I go?"

"We're still working on that … and Ron would love to have you as well – yes, yes, Ron, all right – Ron wants to speak to you, Harry …"

Harry heard Ron's voice next. He wasn't shouting, but it was still too loud for comfort.

"Ron? You don't have to be so loud, I can hear you fine –"

"Sorry, Harry," Ron sounded much better now. "I keep forgetting … it's _weird_ how you can hear me, we're so far away. Anyway, how have you been?"

"All right, you know …" Harry was not going to mention that Sirius crossed his mind often, or that his godfather's death played in his dreams sometimes. "I can't believe you still remember the phone number I gave you." It seemed so long ago, now.

"Yeah, well, it's not like we could owl you to tell you, could we? It'd probably be intercepted. Then Hermione came up with the brilliant idea for us to use the telephone –"

"Because Voldemort would never think we'd use a Muggle invention," Harry finished for Ron. "Wicked. Does that mean I can call you now, then?"

"Well – er – no. We don't want You-Know-Who to know we're using this so my dad's only using it when we absolutely have to. In fact I can't talk too long and Hermione wants to speak to you, too."

"She's at the Burrow too, then?"

"Only just." Ron added quickly, "We'll get you out of there, Harry, we promise, and you can join us and we'll have some real fun."

"What are you going to use?" Harry asked eagerly. "Floo Powder again?" While it was not his favourite way to travel it was how he'd gone to the Burrow the last time.

"We're not sure yet," Ron responded. "You-Know-Who might be watching the Network but we don't know for sure. I'm sure we'll be able to get you out soon, though."

"I hope so. I don't want to be cooped up here," Harry said. "It's bad enough as it is without having to stay at the house all the time."

"Yeah, I can imagine, mate," Ron said sympathetically. "All right, I'll pass the receiver to Hermione now."

Hermione sounded a bit breathless when she came on the phone but happy nonetheless. "Oh, it's really good to be able to talk to you, Harry …"

"Yeah, that was brilliant to think of using the telephones," Harry smiled. "How's everyone at the Burrow?"

"Oh, we're all doing fine, really … and Crookshanks loves it here, he's chasing all the gnomes, you know how he is. Everyone else says 'hi', by the way –"

"Oh, tell them I say 'hi' back," Harry said, missing the Weasleys and Hermione very much then. They were like family to him; more of a family than the Dursleys had ever been. "Heard anything about the Order?"

"Quite a bit, actually … we'll have to tell you when you get here, though, I can't say anything now," Hermione said.

"Oh, all right, then," Harry was a little disappointed. "Any idea _when_ I'll get there?"

"As soon as we can," Hermione promised. "Look out for us, Harry, it'll be a surprise!"

Draco Malfoy scowled. This was not a good day for him. It had started out badly and was going to get a lot worse.

Morning had brought him a nasty shock – after looking forward to seeing his father again he'd woken up to have his mother tell him he couldn't.

"Why not?" he had demanded, his good spirits dissipating quickly. "He's coming here, isn't he?"

"No, darling, he's not," his mother had said gently. "We can't risk him coming here and being seen harbouring an escaped prisoner from Azkaban."

"Where's he staying, then?" _I miss Dad. I hate that he ever set foot in Azkaban. _Azkaban_, for Merlin's sake!_

"With the Dark Lord, but only for a while."

"I want to see him."

"You'll see him when the excitement dies down, when he can come here unwatched and unseen," she told him.

"I want to see him today," Draco said adamantly. "Mum, I haven't seen him for so long!"

"I know, darling, but you can't," she stood up. "You're not going near the Dark Lord, not if I can help it."

"I don't care. I want to see him." Draco was sullen, now.

"No, she said, and Draco knew her answer was final.

Of course, he didn't exactly fancy entering the Dark Lord's stronghold. All the Death-Eaters, and Dementors … and the Dark Lord himself. Draco had never met Voldemort and he hoped he would never do so. If his father wanted to risk his life like that he could but Draco preferred playing his part outside the direct line of danger. Not wanting to enter Voldemort's fortress did not stop him from sulking, however. He _did_ still want to see his father.

It was bad enough knowing his father was in Azkaban, bad enough missing him and not seeing him without this whole 'Dad-can't-be-seen-at-home-because-the-Ministry-might-catch-him-again' business.

Oh, he knew the logic behind it all. He still didn't like it.

His mother had left to see Lucius Malfoy that morning, leaving Draco to his own devices. The sixteen-year-old spent the hours leading up to lunch in a bad mood, the mood worsening with the realisation that there was no one in the house to see him _in_ the bad mood. Dobby had been set free, after all.

And now … indignity! The nerve!

There he'd been, enjoying his lunch (as much as one could when alone and in a foul mood, anyway) when all hell broke loose.

He'd dropped his spoon, of course. Dropped it with surprise and shock as three wizards 'popped' into the room and pointed wands at him – and quite threateningly, too, Draco thought. In any case, after the initial clatter of metal against glass he remained frozen. What was going on?

Then he recognised one of the wizards as an Auror – Kingsley Shacklebolt. With dark skin, a bald head and the silver hoop in his ear, who else could it be? Draco thought he'd seen the other two before but he couldn't place where, or when.

It didn't matter. It was clear, now, what was going on. The indignity of it! To barge in, and point wands at him, as if he were criminal …

Draco quickly composed himself and in place of the shock that had been on his face there was indignation, anger and annoyance. He remembered the arrogance, too.

"What," he said very coldly, "is going on?" It was clear, of course, that he _did_ know exactly what was happening.

The Aurors did not answer immediately. They were looking around the dining room, up at the chandelier, the 19th century dining table, cabinets containing china, wine glasses, goblets and wine bottles, and finally, one of them inspected the curtains. Another looked under the table.

Draco lost his temper – or rather, gave a good impression of it. Ignoring the wand that was still trained on him he stood up. "What is the bloody meaning of this?"

He spotted another Auror through the doorway leading out into the main hallway. Draco strode out of the dining room, his face set in a scowl. Definitely not a good day for him.

"What the hell are you doing here? Invading my privacy, my home … I want you out! Now! Do you hear me?" his voice was raised.

"Calm down, young man," the Auror in the main hallway said. She had a brisk voice and eyes that were hard. "We've received intelligence," her eyes flicked around the hallway, "that escaped convict Lucius Malfoy is here. We're here to find him."

Draco was incensed. Escaped convict … did she have any idea she was speaking so callously to his son? "This is a _raid_? You're raiding my _house_?"

"We're looking for an escaped convict," she corrected him. "Who happens to be my father," Draco was very cold.

"Exactly why he should be here," the Auror nodded. "You're family, the only ones willing enough to take him in. Now, it would be a lot easier on all of us if you told us where he is –"

"Well, I don't know where he is," Draco snapped. Did she think he was stupid? Did she think he would actually tell her if he knew? "He's not here. I suggest you leave before my mother gets back."

"Ah, now where is your mother?" she said swiftly. Draco could imagine the clogs moving inside her head; Narcissa Malfoy is with her husband, wherever he is.

"Out," Draco said shortly. He turned round at the other Aurors. "I want you all to leave. This is an invasion of privacy."

"We will leave when we finish our search," the Auror said.

"Finish it now, then, because my father _is not here_."

The Aurors didn't listen to him, of course. Draco considered throwing a fit but decided against it. Instead, he leaned against the balustrade of the main marble staircase with a scowl on his face, complaining loudly and irritating everyone.

When Narcissa Malfoy returned she was, to say the least, very displeased at the sight of Aurors in the house. They had only been there for ten minutes but already, she claimed, it was much too long a time.

"I am not harbouring my husband here, now leave!"

The Auror Draco had spoken to previously, whom he later learned was Janid Lucer, questioned his mother about her whereabouts.

"If you must know," she sniffed, "I was with a friend."

"Could you give us the name of your friend?"

"Severus Snape," Narcissa snapped. It was the truth, too. Snape _had_ been there with her. "I want you to leave."

They left, eventually. They didn't find Lucius Malfoy, of course, though they did seize a highly suspicious looking vial. It contained, in actual fact, the venom of a highly poisonous snake; a healing ointment if used on the skin but fatal if swallowed. It was also an illegal product. Draco and his mother were not too worried, however; the vial had been taught to disappear if taken outside Malfoy premises, along with its contents.

"How's Dad?" Draco asked the moment it was safe enough to do so.

"Fine," Narcissa Malfoy replied. She shivered. "It's a good thing there were no Dementors in Azkaban … although with them at Casa Serpente –" Casa Serpente was a very old mansion, full of Dark history and perfect as Voldemort's stronghold – "well, I'll be glad when your father gets here."

"When _is_ he getting here? When can I see him?" Draco asked eagerly.

"Not for a while, darling." Draco's face fell. "We can't risk him getting caught again. And you saw the Aurors, they'll be keeping a close watch on us for – well, Merlin knows how long."

"Huh." Draco slumped onto the couch, crossing his arms and looking very moody. "What about that room underneath the drawing room?"

"We need to get your father here without him being seen and right now we can't do that." Mother sat down next to son. "Bear with it for a while, all right darling?"

Draco made a noncommittal noise.

It all came down in the end, he realised, to Potter. Potter _and_ the Order of the Phoenix were what had gotten his father caught and thrown into Azkaban.

Mostly it was Potter's fault, he decided. The guy ruined _everything_. He constantly humiliated him and beat him at Quidditch and now he was the reason why his father had been imprisoned. He was the reason why Draco was having the worst summer of his life; summer without his father.

Hating Potter was easy; always had been. In the beginning it had been _'I'm supposed to hate him'_ and now, he truly did. It wasn't hard – when someone kept embarrassing you in public it was easy to form feelings of dislike and hatred.

He could still remember, the week before he'd been due to start at Hogwarts, his father sitting him down and explaining things. Oh, he knew about the spy business, all right. He just didn't know _his_ role in the entire affair.

It was lucky he knew how to act well. If not, the entire plan would have fallen apart by now.

In the long run, Albus Dumbledore would later ponder, maybe it would have been better for everyone if Draco hadn't been able to act, after all.

**A/N: Heh. What did you all think? Please review! They're the only way I'll know what you're thinking, and also that people are actually reading this!**

**So, yeah, if I don't get at least one review, I'm not updating (it's not blackmail, I just need to know at least someone is reading this – otherwise there'd be no point, would there?) **

**Criticism welcome, of course, I love feedback of any kind.**

**As an…ahem incentive, there will be a 'thank you' list at the end of every chapter after this one. You've gotta thank those lovely people who take the liberty of reviewing your fic! Yup, reviewers just rock :P**

**So what are you waiting for? Click that button and start reviewing!!**


	2. Attack

**A/N: Ack, I wanted to get this up sooner but I went on holiday for a week with no computer access, so I couldn't :(**

**Following chapter is from Harry's POV, and chapter 3 will be from Draco's POV. Yes, Draco _is_ the main character, but I think this part was important and needed to be written.**

**That said, happy reading and enjoy!**

**Chapter 2: Attack**

Harry awoke every day for the next week with the same feeling of anticipation only to have disappointment grab at him at night, when it became clear, once again, that Harry was not going to leave the Dursleys that day.

It was disheartening. One of the things that made staying in the house all the time bearable was the thought of leaving – but when _was_ he going to leave? He had heard nothing further from Ron or Hermione and only had to assume that they were still working on getting him out of his aunt and uncle's house.

Harry wasn't very sure how to feel when he awoke on Wednesday, about a week after he'd received the phone call from the Burrow. Most of the anticipation had turned to hope; hope that today would be the day; hope that he would not be disappointed again, that he would finally be leaving the Dursleys.

Getting out of bed, Harry sighed as he saw the clear blue sky out his bedroom window. It looked like the beginnings of a perfect summer day and Harry longed to be out in the sunlight, enjoying it all.

_It's summer_, he thought indignantly. _I should be out there! Not stuck in the house…_

When he went downstairs the Dursleys were already at breakfast. None of them said anything to Harry as he sat down, though the corner of Uncle Vernon's mouth twitched.

Breakfast was silent save for the tinkle of knife and fork against plate as Harry and the Dursleys ate their bacon and eggs. Harry wondered how long he would have to endure this; the silence, uncomfortableness, everything. He needed to get out!

Harry stared idly at the broken television set in front of Dudley, who was gobbling up his tenth egg. Dudley had accidentally put his elbow to the screen a few days ago, when he'd seen Harry and tripped into the set. It was one of the more interesting things that had happened since that phone call.

"Dudley, I need you to wash the car," Uncle Vernon said, as Dudley reached for another egg.

"I'll do it," Harry said quickly.

Dudley, who had opened his mouth to argue, now opened it in shock.

"You'll what?" Uncle Vernon clearly thought he had misheard Harry.

"I'll wash the car," Harry said. "This evening."

"Why?" Uncle Vernon asked, suspicion evident in his voice.

"Well, if you don't want me to, fine then," Harry went back to his bacon.

"No!" Uncle Vernon said quickly. "No," he repeated, slower this time, "it would be – er – lovely if you did that." Even Uncle Vernon could see it was best for Harry to do the job, even if he was suspiciously willing; Dudley just wasn't good at it. He made the car, if possible, even dirtier sometimes.

Harry didn't know what had prompted him to offer to wash his uncle's car – he just had. Perhaps it was a bit reckless because outside the house he could be open to attack, but it wasn't as if he couldn't run back in quickly if he wanted to. It didn't look as if the Weasleys were coming to fetch him anytime soon anyway. What could be the harm in washing Uncle Vernon's car, outside?

At five thirty Harry fetched a bucket and an old rag. On his way out he saw Uncle Vernon and Dudley parked on the living room couch, munching on potato chips and watching a wrestling match.

Therefore Harry was very much surprised to see a soapy bucket and the blurry figure of someone with a hose through the car door glass.

Harry frowned. Hadn't he just seen Dudley and Uncle Vernon in the living room? Aunt Petunia wouldn't have taken it upon herself to wash the car, would she? Why on earth would she want to do that if Harry had already volunteered?

Harry moved over to the other side of the car to see who was washing it – and got the biggest shock of his life.

Hosing down Uncle Vernon's car, wearing a pair of jeans and a white sweatshirt was himself.

Harry gaped. It couldn't be …

But it was. There was no mistaking what Harry saw; a boy who looked exactly like him with black hair that stuck up in odd places and the same pair of glasses perched on his nose.

Perhaps he was hallucinating, he thought, or perhaps he had gone quite mad … either way they weren't comforting thoughts.

The person he was looking at, the person who looked awfully like himself turned and came face-to-face with Harry. Harry looked into green eyes that were exactly the same as his and as his eyes flicked upwards he saw a lightning bolt shaped scar.

Harry yelled and so did the person he was looking at. His look-alike recovered first.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing out here?" his look-alike demanded.

"Who are you?" Harry asked, his eyes narrowing.

"I – you have to get inside!" his look-alike was frantic.

"What? Why? Who are you?"

"Death-Eater attack … get inside!"

"How do I know you're not one yourself?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"If I was I'd have cursed you by now, get inside!"

"Wait – you wouldn't happen to be a future me, would you? Using a time-turner?" Harry's eyes lit up. "To warn me about –"

"Yes, yes, yes, think whatever you like, just get inside before they get here! Now!" He pushed Harry in the direction of the house. "Go!"

Was this really his future self? The theory had just popped into Harry's head, as theories (no matter how far-fetched) often do, and he'd voiced it out. Before Harry had time to think out his theory however he heard a series of 'pop's and six Death-Eaters materialised out of thin air.

"Run!" his look-alike yelled, brandishing a wand that looked nothing like Harry's.

_Who is this?_ Harry wondered. A second later he was forced down and a curse shot past his head.

"Thanks," Harry gasped to his look-alike. Whoever it was, he seemed to be there to help.

With incredible rapidity his look-alike fired off spells at the Death-Eaters. Then he flung the car door open and pushed Harry inside before going in after him. The car rocked as (Harry supposed) the Death-Eaters' spells hit it. Irrelevantly he thought of the look Uncle Vernon would have on his face when he would see the damage that was inflicted on the car and smiled.

"What are you grinning at?" his look-alike said irritably, pointing his wand at each of the windows to make them stronger. "We're being attacked, if you didn't notice. Dammit, we're cornered."

Harry pulled out the Gameboy Dudley had left in the car – he'd been sitting on it – and said, "What do we do now?"

"Give me that," his look-alike said suddenly. Taking it, he pointed his wand at the Gameboy and muttered, "_Portus_."

He thrust it at Harry. "Come one, we're getting out of here."

As Harry's fingers closed around the Gameboy-turned-Portkey he felt a familiar tug on his navel. Colours swirled around him and he landed with a thud on the floor a few moments later.

Harry looked around. He was sitting on a dark wood-panelled floor in a room that looked like it hadn't been used in years. Cobwebs covered the corners of the room and a dusty armchair stood in one corner. The windows were grimy and light barely filtered through.

As Harry wondered if he'd been led into a trap he heard a 'pop!' and next moment he was looking at what appeared to be himself.

"You ok? Good. Get up, come on …" he extended a hand to Harry but the boy did not take it. As Harry reached for his wand (which was located in the back pocket of his jeans) his look-alike said quickly, "I'm from the Order, Harry, this isn't a trap."

"Who are you then?" Harry questioned, getting up, hand on his wand. His look-alike hadn't taken out his own wand, which was a good sign but it was better, Harry thought, to be cautious. His hand tightened on the wand. "Why do you look just like me?"

"Given up on the time-turner theory?" There was an amused look in his eyes. "Have you ever heard of Polyjuice Potion, Harry?"

"Yeah … wait, you're using Polyjuice Potion? But don't you need a bit of me for that to work?" Harry frowned.

"That was easy," his look-alike laughed. "Mrs. Figg's always combing your hair, isn't she?" It was true. Almost every time Harry saw her now she was trying to neaten up his hair. And of course, every time she failed.

_He must be from the Order_, Harry figured. _He knows about Mrs. Figg and I don't think any Death-Eater knows that._

Harry's look-alike must have thought that Harry didn't suspect a threat anymore, because he said very amicably, "You seem very well-versed in the Polyjuice Potion … sure you haven't made it before?" He chuckled but Harry only managed to give a weak smile in return. If he only knew how close to the truth he was …

"So – who are you?" Harry asked, taking the subject off Polyjuice Potions. Harry loosened his grip on his wand.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt," his look-alike said promptly. He smiled at Harry's surprised look. "Weren't expecting that, were you?"

"You're kidding," Harry started to laugh. "_Kingsley_?"

"Yep. Now let me tell you, the plan was not supposed to go this way. Arthur was supposed to get you, he was supposed to go in your aunt and uncle's house –"

"Mr. Weasley? So I'm going to the Burrow?" Harry asked eagerly.

"Yes," Kingsley affirmed. "He had the Portkey to bring you there. We knew the Death-Eaters were planning an attack so I acted as a decoy. Of course, we didn't expect you to be out of the house yourself – why _were_ you out, Harry? After Arthur told you, why did you do that?"

Harry was saved from answering when several 'pop!'s punctuated the air. Four wizards and two witches appeared. One of them was Mr. Weasley and to Harry's surprise he hugged both him and Kingsley.

"Thank goodness, the Death-Eaters blew up the car, I was afraid –"

"We're fine, Mr. Weasley," Harry assured him.

"I told you I heard someone Disapparate, Arthur," a witch said. She had short brown hair and a brisk voice. "Well, the boy's all right, which is good, but I'd lime to know what he was doing outside. I thought you told him to stay in," she addressed Mr. Weasley.

"He did," Harry said quickly. "It's just – I – I hated being inside all the time, and when Uncle Vernon mentioned the car wanted washing –" he faltered a bit at all the Aurors looking at him. It occurred to him how irresponsible he must look. Nevertheless he carried on, "I didn't know when I was leaving, I wanted to get out –"

"So you couldn't wait, is that it?" the brown-haired Auror said.

"Well –" Harry said uncomfortably.

"Patience," she snapped, "is a virtue." Harry was really starting to dislike her. "You almost got yourself and Kingsley killed."

"Now, it's all right, Harry's safe, it's all that matters, eh? That and no one getting hurt … what happened after we left?"

"Nothing," said an Auror with a ponytail. "The Death-Eaters Disapparated almost immediately after they blew up the car. Must've figured no one could survive."

"And then the Muggles," another Auror chuckled.

"Yes, well, I think I'll get Harry back now," Mr. Weasley said. He whispered to Harry, "We can talk more later."

"Make sure you give him a good talking-to, Arthur, he almost ruined everything for us," the witch with the brown hair said.

Mr. Weasley did not say anything to that, choosing instead to bring out the Portkey. After saying to goodbye he signalled for Harry to take the old magazine and the last thing Harry heard before colours swirled around him again was the brown-haired witch saying, "Well, how are we supposed to save him if he doesn't listen?"

When the world righted itself around him again Harry found himself not at the Burrow but in a room surrounded by portraits of sleeping wizards. Several delicate silver instruments sat on spindle-legged tables and a phoenix stood on a stand next to a desk. He was in Dumbledore's office at Hogwarts.

"Slight change of plan," Mr. Weasley said at Harry's questioning look. "The Burrow might not be safe enough, you see, so we thought of Hogwarts. And Headquarters – well – Molly and I thought it best if you didn't go there for now."

Something seemed to restrict Harry's throat. Headquarters was located at Number 12, Grimmauld Place – Sirius' old home. "Yeah," Harry managed at last. "Hogwarts is fine."

"Good," Mr. Weasley smiled. "It's three weeks until the start of school proper, but some of the teachers are here, so you won't be lonely. I'm sure Ron and Hermione would love to join you as well … and we'll help you get all your things, Harry, don't worry, including your schoolbooks from Diagon Alley."

"Oh – wow, thanks, Mr. Weasley … but all my things at the Dursleys –"

"All taken care of," Mr. Weasley said. "They're on their way to your dormitory now."

"Mr. Weasley," Harry said suddenly. "One of the Aurors said the Death-Eaters blew up Uncle Vernon's car …"

"Oh, yes, that," Mr. Weasley looked rather uncomfortable.

According to Mr. Weasley, Uncle Vernon had gone ballistic. It had taken a long time for him to calm down enough to hear that the Ministry would provide for another car. Of course, Uncle Vernon didn't like that – he didn't want anything to do with wizards. In the end, they'd settled the whole matter though Uncle Vernon was (the last Mr. Weasley had seen of him) furious with Harry.

"Good thing I'm here then," Harry grinned. "Where's Dumbledore?"

"Still at the Ministry, he's been so busy these days … what with everything that's happened," Mr. Weasley sighed. "Fudge wasn't completely useless, and now no one but Dumbledore … but I'm sure things will work out," Mr. Weasley said. "There are people in the Ministry I can think of who could take Fudge's place, so we'll see how it goes. In the meantime … why don't you head off, Harry? I'll see if I can get Ron and Hermione to join you."

Harry turned to go, then stopped as something came into his head. "What was that place Kingsley brought me to? That house?"

"Oh – well, the Aurors always designate a meeting-place to go to, either after finishing a mission or if anything goes wrong. They can decide what to do next or count casualties, or anything else, without interruption or danger," Mr. Weasley explained.

"I'm sorry I went out of the house, Mr. Weasley," Harry said. "It was careless."

"Yes, it was – but I suppose we can't blame you, no one likes staying indoors all the time, especially during summer," Mr. Weasley said, regarding Harry. "Though I thought you'd have stayed in a bit longer than that."

"Sorry," Harry said again.

"Think no more of it," Mr. Weasley said pleasantly. "Everything's all right in the end, no one's hurt."

"Yeah, but that Auror …" Harry trailed off, wondering if he should continue.

"Janid Lucer?"

"The one with brown hair. Bit grumpy."

"Ah, yes, Janid's tough, but she's good at heart."

"Maybe, but she's not very likeable," Harry remarked.

Mr. Weasley laughed. "No, she isn't, is she? She's full of harsh words, that one. Still, she's very firm on rules and doing good, so no harm to her, really."

Harry sad goodbye to Mr. Weasley then and set off for the Gryffindor common room. It felt odd to be walking along the corridors without any students passing him by but rather peaceful nonetheless. It also gave him a lot of time to think and reflect on the day's events.

_I probably should have stayed indoors_, Harry thought._ But I didn't _really_ cause any harm … _he smiled wryly then._ Trust that Janid Lucer to make me feel guilty!_

It was only when Harry reached the portrait of the Fat lady that he realised he had a problem. He didn't know the password! The Fat Lady herself was unlikely to tell him and there were no Prefects or students around to ask. Would Professor McGonagall know? Harry wondered. Was she even _here_?

"You're early," the Fat Lady commented when she saw Harry (she'd been looking at herself in the mirror, pruning her hair, before she noticed the black-haired boy).

"Yes – erm – you wouldn't mind letting me know the password, would you?" No harm trying, was there?

"Password? Term hasn't started yet, there is no password!" the Fat Lady scoffed.

"Then – I can just go in? Seeing as there's no password …" Harry said, thinking, _I didn't know there isn't a password during the holidays! Probably no need, seeing as no one needs to go in …_

"No one can go in without knowing the password," the Fat Lady told him severely.

"But there is no password," Harry reminded her.

She sighed. "No, there isn't. Oh, all right. The password … will be …" she seemed to be thinking. "_Lightning rod._" Then she looked at Harry expectantly.

Harry was confused. Wasn't she going to let him in, then?

"_Well_?" she asked him.

"Well what?" Harry said.

"Aren't you going to tell me the password so I can let you in?"

"Oh," Harry said. "Er – _lightning rod_."

The Fat Lady tutted as the portrait swung open to reveal the common room. "You'd think," she said to herself as it swung shut again, "he _wanted_ to be locked out."

**A/N: Chapter 3 – Reunion of father and son (i.e. Draco and his father :P)**

**Hope you all enjoyed that, don't forget to _review_! Criticism welcome of course.**

**Thank you so much, all of you who reviewed chapter 1! I honestly was not expecting a response of _that_ magnitude, I mean the most number of reviews I've ever gotten for a first chapter is less than 5! And now I've got 13! Thank you so much, you all rock!**

**Lillian**

**Pierre**

**Fieryred20**

**SycoCallie:** Well, I'm planning for it to be better! But only the readers can be a true judge of that :P

**Sever13**

**Horseluver13:** Don't worry, long reviews are what I like best :P yeah, my rewrite is going to be quite different from Facades, I think … no point me rewriting if it's not going to be different :P

**Snow-kitten1:** Why is it called Fabrications? The Malfoys' world is an entire _fabrication_ of lies, deceit and pretense, a _fabrication_ that goes so deep no one would suspect a thing. So I named my fic Fabrications :P

**Miss Court-A-Doo**

**Jonet:** Oh, could you mail me the links? (or the name of the stories, I'd like to check them out)

**Liveandletlive**

**The Imperius:** Oh, a rewrite? Tell me when you get it up :P

**Lyra Skywalker**

**The Legend Keeper:** You'll find out Draco's role in the next chapter! Wait for it!

**I'm doing a sort of mailing-list, I'll e-mail those on my list whenever I update this fic, so if you'd like to be on the list just e-mail me, or if you're reviewing give me your address :P but no attachments on e-mails, please …**

**Now, if you would just head on over and press that wonderful button with the word 'review' on it … **


	3. Reunion and OWLs

**A/N: I tried getting this up as soon as I could, and I hope you enjoy it :P**

**Thanks to Soror Ava for beta-ing for me :P**

**School has started for me so I'll be taking longer to put up chapters, I really hope you'll bear with me and not mind the long wait. I'll try to get chapters up as quickly as I can, though.**

**Enjoy the chapter!**

**Chapter 3: Reunion and OWLs**

Draco Malfoy paced impatiently around the drawing room. He'd abandoned all attempts to build the pyramid out of his deck of Exploding Snap cards a while earlier. He was too worked up, too excited about what was to come. After having the cards explode in his face for the seventh time he'd stopped and taken to walking about.

When were they going to come back? His Mum had left more than half-an-hour ago – what was taking so long? Maybe they'd got caught, Draco worried. Maybe Aurors had ambushed them … maybe the Dark Lord had discovered the truth and had hurt them, and was on his way to get Draco –

_Stop_, Draco ordered himself. _You're being bloody ridiculous. There is no reason why he should find out Mum and Dad work for the Order of the Phoenix. Dumbledore is the only one who knows and he's not likely to tell You-Know-Who._

Yes, Dumbledore was the only one who knew the biggest lie that had been presented to the world. The Malfoys, spies for Dumbledore himself. Unbelievable? But of course. How else could the plan be executed so flawlessly, so perfectly?

It had taken a lot of planning, of course. The lies had to be planted, many of them, a web that went so deep and covered all aspects, so that the world was left with but one image: that the Malfoy family were Dark wizards. Through the years the wizarding world had come to suspect Lucius Malfoy was a Death-Eater, though it wasn't proven (it hadn't been proven, until that little Department of Mysteries jaunt that had landed him in prison). It wasn't hard to think they were Dark, especially since they held such disgust and loathing for all things Muggle, including Muggle-borns. After all, Voldemort had the same way of thinking.

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had approached James and Lily Potter first. At the time the Potters were key members of the Order, only second to Dumbledore himself (though of course the Malfoys hadn't known this). The plan had been outlined, then agreed upon. It was highly dangerous, of course. _'Get into the Inner Circle … spy on Voldemort without him suspecting a thing … make it so improbable the thought would never cross his mind'_ – and so the plan was set. It was so secret that only Dumbledore and the Potters knew.

If all three perished, there would be no one to tell the world who the Malfoys really were. Even if all three survived at the end of the war, there was no guarantee the world would believe them. It was highly probable that the Malfoys would always be seen as Dark, no matter how much good they did. The lies were too good, too convincing.

Lucius and Narcissa knew all that, of course. They'd been the ones to propose such a plan, after all. They were so intent upon it the Potters and Dumbledore wouldn't have been able to stop them even if they'd tried.

The plan was executed flawlessly. Lucius rose up quickly. The information came in, sometimes a trickle, never a torrent. It would never do to arouse suspicion. In time more spies were planted but never as deeply undercover as Lucius Malfoy.

Lucius and Narcissa never knew who the other spies were. It was better not to know. They had no information on the Order, either. No knowledge of its members, its plans, nothing they shouldn't know if they were supposed to be loyal servants to the Dark Lord.

They held two little-known honours in the organisation they knew nothing about; they were the first spies ever to be recruited, and they had lasted the longest.

Everything had been going to plan until Draco was born. What were they to do? Surely they weren't going to raise their son to believe Muggle-borns were foul, raise him to be a Dark wizard (as the world – and Voldemort – would surely expect)? No, they loved him. Yet they couldn't expect a _child_ to understand that the values he would be taught were not what he should show the world? How to explain that he would need a mask?

The first year passed without having to come to terms with the problem. No expectation with a one-year-old, or a two-year-old, or a three-year-old … no, the problem would come later, most especially when the boy started at Hogwarts. Would Draco be able to put on that face to the world? Or would everything fall apart? It seemed only time would tell.

And then the murder of the Potters. Voldemort's downfall. Neither Dumbledore nor the Malfoys thought it permanent. Sure the Dark Mark had faded but the prophecy had yet to be fulfilled. Dumbledore had known this and told Lucius, and he'd believed. He didn't know the prophecy, though. Better not to know.

So they kept up the façade, always careful, cautious, keeping an eye and an ear out for any news of the Dark Lord. None came and they concentrated more on their son.

He'd turned out well, beautifully. It had seemed impossible at first but the young Draco, having an active imagination, loved the game Pretend. Pretend to be this, pretend to be that; one day he was an international Quidditch player playing in the World Cup; another day he was a Muggle, marvelling at the wonder of magic. What better way to have him keep up the public image by saying it was all a game of Pretend?

The boy loved that, of course. As he grew older he understood more and it became an act. Be arrogant. Be selfish. Become what you are not. Despise Muggles and Muggle-borns. No one can doubt that you will become Dark.

Draco pondered that for a while as he paced. Would he have to become a Death-Eater when he became of age, if the war was not yet over? Receive the Dark Mark, seal his fate and become a servant?

He shivered. _I don't want that. Never. Have that ugly thing on your arm, become a _slave …

Draco caught sight of the family portrait above the fireplace. They'd hired the painter last summer. She'd done a very good job and had captured all three Malfoys' features perfectly. There was Lucius, arm around Narcissa; a show of affection he rarely showed the world, except on special occasions. Draco was off to one side, looking a bit sulky; he'd been insulted by the portrait of an 18th century maiden, which was located in the main hallway. Apparently he'd visited her and been shooed away.

Someone grabbed the real Draco from behind then. He gave a yell and struggled to get out his wand before realising –

"Dad?"

He spun around and came face-to-face with Lucius Malfoy, looking tired and worn but with a smile on his face. "Dad!" He gave his father a hug and Lucius returned it, saying softly in his son's ear, "I've missed you."

"I missed you too, Dad." They drew apart and Draco caught sight of his mother, who was smiling. "I didn't hear you come in!"

"Portkey," Draco's father shrugged. "You won't hear anything." Then he regarded Draco._ "__You've grown, haven't you? You're taller than me now. Well, tell me what you've been up to while I was away."_

"Not that much, but –" and Draco didn't stop talking for almost an hour. Seeing his father again after so long put Draco in a very good mood and he was the happiest he had been in quite some time.

"Oh, Dad, look at what Mum and I did to the secret room, it's completely different," Draco led his father to the fireplace. "The Dark Arts stuff are still there, but …"

"We got the house elf to do it last week," Narcissa explained, taking out her wand. "It's liveable; I daresay he didn't do a bad job –"

"With you supervising? I'm sure it'll be fine," Draco's father said. Then he cracked a grin. "Even if it isn't, it'd be better than Casa Serpente and Azkaban." He grew serious. "Glad to be out of both places."

"What was it like? Azkaban – and staying with the Dark Lord?"

"Azkaban wasn't too bad," Mr. Malfoy said lightly. "No Dementors, they're all with the Dark Lord now. But Casa Serpente … the Dementors are most everywhere you go … two weeks there, being on your guard constantly, is more than enough." He took a breath. "I'm here now, though and it feels great. So let's see what you've done to the secret room!"

Draco's mother tapped one of the bricks near the fireplace with her wand and muttered, "_Dissendium._" In silence the big stone slab directly in front of the fireplace slid under it, revealing stairs that led down into the secret room.

Draco descended first, down winding stone steps. When they ended Draco would see the room in its entirety and when his father came down and saw everything he nodded.

"Very good," he said as he slipped a hand around his wife's waist.

The secret room looked positively inviting. A sofa had been moved from one of the guest rooms to the secret room and it now stood on the left wall. There was a small table in the middle that seated two and a bookshelf and cabinet took up the right wall. All the Dark Arts books, potions and other objects were still there, now dust-free. Directly opposite the stairs was a tapestry that used to hang in the corridor outside the guest rooms and a window that showed a meadow, a tree and currently, the sun setting. Carpeting had been put down on the floor and instead of the single torch lighting up the room orbs of light had been hung up. The cobwebs were gone, too.

"The window changes according to what time it is," Draco told his father. "It's evening now, see, so the sun's setting."

"Draco wanted you to be able to have something to look at, since you'll be here most of the time, so he thought of this," Draco's mother added.

"The window's great," Draco's father strode across the room to have a better look. "Doesn't feel underground anymore, just like the Ministry of Magic."

"It's where I got the idea from, actually," Draco admitted. "Mum finished it yesterday."

"Yes, she did, and it was not a piece of cake, someone had better appreciate it," Mrs. Malfoy threatened.

"Oh, of course I do," Mr. Malfoy said, and in a few strides he'd reached his wife, pulled her close and given her a nice long kiss.

Draco was both revolted and pleased. It was sweet of his father, yes, but did he have to do it in front of him? They were still his parents, for Merlin's sake. There were just some things he couldn't stand to see and his parents kissing in front of him was one of them.

"Oh, come on," he said loudly and his parents broke apart, smiling perhaps a little sheepishly. "Not in front of me!"

"Sorry," they said at the same time.

* * *

The owl came the next day while Draco was polishing up his broomstick. The Hogwarts seal on the envelope was enough to make him nervous. This was not just the list of schoolbooks for the coming year; the envelope also contained Draco's OWL results.

Draco, though he hadn't shown it, had worked hard for his OWLs. Not as hard as Hermione Granger had, but hard nonetheless. He'd managed to pound his head into remembering events and dates for History of Magic, a subject he (unsurprisingly) did not fancy. Whether or not those nights spent in the common room had been worth it would be known now.

He tore open the envelope with hands that threatened to shake. He ignored the customary letter and book list, looking for the piece of parchment that had his exam results on it.

_Found it!_

Draco scanned the results. He hadn't realised he'd been holding his breath and he let it out slowly. A smile crept across his face. Finally, he jumped up with a whoop of delight.

"Ten! Ten! I got ten OWLs!" he reached the door of his bedroom and flung it open. "Mum!" he called, going out into the corridor. "Mum! Guess what I got?"

No answer. _Probably down with Dad_, he decided. They had, after all, suggested for him to go and do something, a subtle hint that they wanted some alone time.

Draco bounded down the marble staircase and sped into the drawing room. His mother had just emerged form the secret room and the stone slab was just closing as Draco entered.

"Mum! Guess what? Guess what my OWL results are?" Draco waved the piece of parchment around as he hurried across the room to her. "Ten! I got ten! I lost out on Care of Magical Creatures and Astronomy but I got one for History of Magic!"

"Oh, darling, that's wonderful! I'm so proud of you," she brought Draco into a hug that he tried to wriggle out of.

"I can't believe I got it for History of Magic, though," Draco grinned once he'd been let go of.

"Yes, I can still remember all those fails," his mother laughed. "Your father wants to hear about this, go on down and tell him."

Draco did, and his father was just as happy as his mother.

"We have to celebrate," his father said. "I'd go for Atlantis, that new fancy restaurant but I can't go out."

"Who says we're taking you with us?" Draco kidded. He threw his hands up in defence as his father threatened to hit him. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding."

"But you know officially your father isn't pleased with you," Draco's mother told him.

"Oh, yes, I'm very upset that you didn't beat that Granger, you're a pureblood and she's not, and so on and so forth," Mr. Malfoy said rather airily. "Of course we don't know what she's got, but –"

"Twelve OWLs, no doubt about it," Draco said immediately. "She's so bloody smart."

"No bloody swearing."

Draco rolled his eyes at his father.

* * *

Hermione did get twelve OWLs. She screamed when she got the results and hugged Harry and Ron so hard they almost choked.

Harry had gotten nine OWLs. He was rather pleased about it, especially since it meant he could still become an Auror if he wanted to; he'd achieved the minimum set of requirements needed to attend the Advanced classes for subjects like Defence Against the Dark Arts, Potions and Transfiguration. The only thing that dampened his mood was the thought of two more years under Snape.

Ron had eight OWLs. He was happy about what he'd gotten, "Mum was expecting eight or nine, I think, so that's all right. And I can get into most of the Advanced classes so I've still got my career options open."

"I wonder how everyone else did," Hermione pondered. "Do you think they've posted the results on the notice board, like our exam results?"

Harry shrugged. "We can check."

Ron and Hermione had arrived at Hogwarts just two days after Harry had. It had been wonderful to see both of them again and catch up on everything that had been happening. They'd also enjoyed the liberty of roaming about the castle by themselves without being stopped by anyone.

Teachers like McGonagall and Sprout, the Heads of Houses, were already at Hogwarts. Firenze the centaur was also there (having been banned from the Forbidden Forest, Hogwarts was the only place he could go). Harry rarely saw Snape, which was a relief but he assumed the Potions master was staying down in the dungeons. Most of the Professors, McGonagall had explained to him, had arrived about a week prior to the start of term.

Harry, Ron and Hermione found a name list with all the coming sixth-years' results in the Gryffindor common room.

"Neville's got six," Ron said, scanning the list with his finger.

"Yeah? What about Dean and Seamus?" Harry asked.

"Dean's here," Hermione said, pointing at _'Thomas, Dean'_. "He's got … eleven! That's really good!"

"Seamus got eight, same as me," Ron said.

Harry looked past the F's to the G's. "Goyle's got one," he laughed. "Herbology."

"Oh, let me see," Ron snickered.

"Pansy Parkinson's got five," Hermione read, delighted. "Parvati's got ten, her sister too."

Harry scanned the list for an all-too-familiar name. Ron found it the same time Harry did and both of them groaned.

"Ten! Malfoy got ten?" Ron said disbelievingly. "How'd he get ten?"

"By studying?" Hermione suggested. "He isn't stupid, we all know that."

"Yeah, but we can wish," Ron sighed.

"We have to pick the subjects we're taking in sixth year, don't we?" Harry remembered. "Before term starts."

"Cross out History of Magic for me," Ron said. "I didn't even pass that one."

"Well, I'm dropping History of Magic and Astronomy," Hermione announced to stunned silence. She looked round at Ron and Harry. "What?"

"You're dropping subjects?" Ron asked, disbelief written all over his face.

"Yes – because – well, I don't think I'll need those subjects for NEWTs, when I apply for a job," Hermione explained. "NEWTs are going to be tough and I want to be able to concentrate on subjects I'll need."

"Makes sense, I guess," Ron said.

"Is that the _Daily Prophet_?" Harry asked Hermione. She had something tucked under her arm.

"Oh – here," she gave it to him. "I haven't even looked at the headlines yet."

Voldemort hadn't made any new moves since the last time Harry had read the paper. Fudge was still missing. Harry suspected Voldemort and his followers had already killed him. The attack on a family of Muggles a week before had successfully been handled (meaning no Muggles were suspicious about the existence of magic). The Muggle family's eleven-year-old son had been saved, the sole survivor of the attack. Much to everyone's surprise, he was discovered to be a potential wizard. He was due to start at Hogwarts in two weeks' time and was currently staying with Marian Garr, a young witch who was a member of the Obliviator Squad.

"You know the Ministry of Magic had been forewarned about that Muggle attack?" Hermione mused as she read the article on the boy.

"What? No way – why didn't they do anything to protect the Muggles, then?" Harry was sceptical.

"Because they only found out half-an-hour before the attack began," Hermione said.

"According to Lucius Malfoy's sister _and _Snape, You-Know-Who only told them and the other Death-Eaters the time of attack half-an-hour before," Ron added. "Really last-minute, huh?"

"We got all this from Fred and George after Ginny blackmailed them," Hermione said, keeping her voice even. It was impossible to tell if she approved of disapproved of the blackmailing.

"I still can't believe it, though," Harry shook his head. "Lucius Malfoy's _sister_ is a spy for the Order."

"Newly recruited," Hermione reminded him.

"How can Dumbledore trust her?" Harry wondered. "Look at her brother."

"Professor Lupin knew her at school, he says she was quiet and he'd never heard her repeat that rubbish about purebloods and Muggle-borns," Hermione sad. "And Ron and I have met her, she doesn't seem bad."

"Better than Snape any day," Ron said. "If it weren't for who her brother is I'd have no doubts at all."

"But you do have doubts," Harry pressed.

Ron shrugged. "You just said it, mate. Look at her brother."

* * *

**A/N: Ha, didn't expect that, did you?**

**My wonderful wonderful reviewers, thank you so much!**

**SycoCallie:** Unfortunately it's going to be slow-going, with school and everything … but as Janid Lucer says, "Patience is a virtue!" :P

**Rosaline Kells: **Thanks, I've never actually written from the trio's POV before, so I'm glad to hear that.

**miCHi:** Thanks!

**horseluver13: **Yes beams Draco/Hermione is my favourite ship!

**Lyra Skywalker:** Er, probably not. The main reason why I rewrote 'Facades' was because Draco's powers were giving me a problem with the rest of the plot.

**Smiles28:** Thanks!

**liveandletlive: **Goodie that's what I was aiming for … a better version:P And it'll be _quite _different too …

**bigred20:** Thanks!

**Forsaken163:** Is Draco going to get along with Harry? You'll just have to wait and see …

**HermyPenguin:** Well I've got the same background (the Malfoys being spies) so a few of the key events in 'Facades' will be the same, but I don't think Draco will have powers in this one. It screwed up the rest of my plot, that's why I did the rewrite. Nefarious Blake is still here, as is his mother. Blaise Zabini, too. About Kingsley, the Aurors knew the Death-Eaters were going to attack. Thinking that Harry would be safely indoors the Aurors decided to put a decoy outside – Kingsley looking like Harry. Washing the car was just a coincidence, Kingsley didn't know Uncle Vernon wanted the car washed.

**ty-rant84:** Yeah, Harry wasn't supposed to go outside … appreciate your opinion :P

**nevermore: **I don't like Janid Lucer either lol Lucius and Narcissa have bearings on the plot that affect Draco and others too … but I don't think I'll have a whole chapter in their POV or something like that.

**The Imperius:** Aha alright, press the 'go' button lolz

**Pierre:** Thanks!

**Hope you enjoyed that, don't forget to hit that "go" button before you leave and drop me a review! Heheh. Criticism welcome.**


	4. Conforming

**A/N: All right. I can't believe it took me six months to write this. And I'm really, really sorry. But I can't promise it won't happen again, because I really don't know when I'll finish the next chapter. And this was written before HBP came out, obviously, and the only thing I took from it was Side-Along-Apparition.**

**This is longer than my previous chapters by a bit, if it helps make up for my complete lack of updates…anyway, I hope you all enjoy it!**

**Chapter 4: Conforming**

"I have to _what_?" Draco said very loudly, gaping at his father.

"It is expected," Mr. Malfoy said. "Everyone form the Inner Circle, a few from the Outer –"

"No," Draco said flatly. "Absolutely not. There is no way in fucking hell I'm doing that."

"Draco," his father said warningly. "Language."

"Sorry. But I'm not doing it."

"You have to. It's what he wants. Everyone is going to do it."

"Not me," Draco said firmly. "Never. I'll never, ever –"

"Do you want to arouse suspicion? Do you want us to be found out?" Mr. Malfoy asked. "If you don't do this that is exactly what will happen."

Draco shook his head. "I don't believe that. It's my decision. I'm not you."

"Draco, what you do reflects upon me. You know that," Mr. Malfoy told him quietly.

"Then I'll be the son that didn't conform," Draco said.

"That's not an option. Everyone assumes you'll become Dark. You have to do this," Draco's father pressed.

"No!" Draco stood up, the game of chess completely forgotten. "I am not getting the Dark mark. I don't care if they all get it, I won't. I am not becoming a Death-Eater."

"Do you think I want you to? Draco, if you don't I am going to be questioned. They have all been led to believe that you would take the Mark in a heartbeat –"

"I wonder who gave them that idea," Draco said sarcastically.

Mr. Malfoy gave him a stern look. "Do you want to be cast out? It's what I'll have to do. If you refuse it will turn everything completely upside down. Imagine Dumbledore deciding to help the Dark Lord."

"It isn't that drastic," Draco snapped. "I'm not doing it."

"Yes, you are. That part is not open to discussion," Draco's father was firm.

Draco glared at him. "I'm not getting up."

"It is no longer open to discussion."

"I hate this! I hate this, and I hate my life," Draco stormed out into the drawing room, fists clenched tightly. _How can he expect me to do that?_ he asked himself angrily as he strode into the main hallway.

"Draco? Darling, what's wrong?" his mother had just descended the marble staircase. She had a paintbrush in her hand.

"Ask Dad," Draco said shortly, taking the stairs three at a time.

"Is it the Dark Mark?"

Draco stopped, still halfway up the stairs, and turned around slowly to face Mrs. Malfoy. "You knew Dad was going to talk to me about it, didn't you?"

"Well –" she began but Draco did not let her finish. He already knew the answer to his question.

"You knew! I don't – how can you and Dad ask me to do something like that?" Draco demanded, voice rising. "I didn't ask to become a spy, you did! You and Dad, not me! It's not fair, you keep asking me do to these things. I can take being hated by the other Houses, not having anyone to really count on, but I will _not_ take the Dark Mark. Never."

He turned and strode upstairs, down the corridor to his bedroom, ignoring whatever it was his mother was saying. When he reached his room he slammed the door so hard a painting fell to the floor. The painting depicted a dragon and it roared with fury but Draco took no notice of it.

The Dark Mark! "How the bloody hell can they ask me to get it?" Draco asked the air. All he got in response was the dragon's roaring. Draco picked up the painting and tossed it on the bed before sitting down on the green quilt cover himself, looking around his room moodily.

He had not asked for this, this life where he could never be himself, never do all the things he wanted to. Always watching what he did, who he did it with, how to act … Merlin, he was tired of it.

Now the Dark Mark. _Trust You-Know-Who_, Draco thought bitterly, _to think of recruiting us early. We're not even of age, yet. _Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle … they would all be getting it. They'd all be ordered to snoop around Hogwarts for information, too.

Draco put his face in his hands. He couldn't see that he had any choice … refusing would reflect badly on his father. But to have something so foul, so hideously ugly, burned onto your arm … no. he could never do that.

Everyone expected him to get the Mark, though. Refusal would cause many raised eyebrows, even suspicion. No secret that a lot of Slytherins would become Death-Eaters after leaving Hogwarts and that Draco would, too. He'd always thought the war might be over before he had to make the decision, however.

Someone knocked on the door, then turned the knob only to have it _'click'_ as confirmation that the door was locked.

"Go away," Draco called out.

"Darling," his mother began, "please don't do this." Her voice was slightly muffled by the door.

"Leave me alone," Draco told her.

"Draco –"

"Just go. There's nothing you can say to me," Draco said.

After a few minutes Draco heard nothing further, so he assumed his mother had left. The corridor outside was carpeted; Draco wouldn't have been able to hear his mother's footsteps.

Draco's own room was huge; his bed, on the right, was king-sized with green silk quilts and pillows of the finest feathers; there was a bookshelf and glass cabinets, one of which featured his Nimbus 2001; a desk by the window where he did his letter-writing; a couch in front of the fireplace; a walk-in wardrobe that had a floor-to-ceiling mirror; his own bathroom; and a pair of glass doors that opened onto a balcony overlooking the Manor grounds.

Draco approached the balcony now, throwing the glass doors open as he went. He leant moodily against the marble balustrade, chin on hands. There was the fish pond, with lily pads and frogs; there were trees and rose bushes, and other kinds of plants and flowers; a greenhouse; a level plain of grass to play Quidditch; and near the pond Draco spotted Arra the house elf tending to a bush with big red leaves.

He still couldn't see a way out. If he refused the Dark Mark all the respect he had earned from the Slytherins would be gone and he'd also be held in disgrace by his family (both Malfoy and Black), possibly cast out – his father couldn't very well close one eye and pretend his son hadn't refused. The world would know something was up.

Refusing would bring suspicion, too. Draco was sure of that. He could remember boasting in the common room frequently about surely getting the Dark Mark after Hogwarts, about looking forward to "continuing my father's work" … _stupid, stupid, stupid,_ Draco berated himself. _You're so bloody good you can't even get yourself out of this! Why did I say that? Damn it!_

Draco sighed. _No choice. Never have a choice. I always do what Mum and Dad want … because I have to. If I don't everything falls apart._

_Merlin, I hate this. I hate everything._

He felt condemned. Like a man about to meet death, a feeling not completely uncalled for; a bad move could mean torture or, if Voldemort suspected the worst, death.

His parents' advice ran through his head. _'Make eye contact, but not all the time' … 'don't avoid eye contact too much or it'll be suspicious' … 'don't fidget, he'll know you're nervous' … 'don't be too eager' … 'keep cool but not detached' … 'choose your words carefully, everything could have a dual meaning' …_

"Draco, you ready?"

It was his father. Draco nodded. _I'm ready to meet the Dark Lord. But receive the Dark Mark? I don't think I'll ever be ready for that._

Because Draco couldn't yet Apparate, and they didn't want to use a Portkey, he and his father used Side-Along-Apparition. Draco held onto his father as tightly as he could, and felt the uncomfortable pressure and blackness that came with Side-Along-Apparition – and Apparition in general.

They didn't meet Voldemort at Casa Serpente. Instead Draco found himself on the outskirts of the village of Little Hangleton. He and his father walked briskly on towards an old dilapidated mansion and Draco began to fidget as soon as he saw it. Voldemort was in there. He might not come out of there, especially if Voldemort suspected –

"You'll do fine," his father told him gently, as if he had been able to read his thoughts. "Especially with your training."

Occlumency. Draco had forgotten about that. As long as Voldemort couldn't tell he was lying, it should be fine. His father had taught him Occlumency a year ago. It had been hard but Draco had managed it.

_All I have to do is make sure he can't tell I'm lying_, Draco told himself. _That and all the other things Mum and Dad told me … Merlin, how can I remember all of that?_

Draco entered the mansion with his father. A Dementor stood by the door. Draco suspected it was there more for effect that anything else, but that did not stop the shiver that ran down his back.

Voldemort was upstairs. Draco would be meeting him alone. Another tactic to weed out the weak, perhaps – take away moral support. Not that his father looked like he was giving it – with the mask over his face, who knew what he was thinking?

Draco's father led him to a room on the right where the blond entered alone. Voldemort sat on a high-backed chair and a large snake lay curled up next to him. As Draco entered the snake's head rose up slowly, fixing its eyes upon him. The fireplace, Draco noted, was cold and empty.

"My lord," he muttered, bowing his head.

There was a deliberate silence. Draco fought not to fidget and to keep his head bowed.

Finally – "Your name, boy?"

"Draco Malfoy, my lord," Draco answered. His mother's words echoed in his mind: _do not speak unless spoken to._

"Malfoy … your father failed me in a very important task I set for him," Voldemort said. "Why should you be any different?"

_If asked about your parents' shortcomings, be fiercely loyal yet objective._

"I believe anyone can make a mistake, as my father did," Draco said, choosing his words carefully. "Yet perhaps the mistake could have been avoided."

"Tell me, boy, why are you here?"

"I wish to offer myself to you, lord," Draco would have refused such servitude had the circumstances been different.

"And how could you help me, Draco? You are not of age. You cannot do magic out of school."

"I can spy, my lord. I could spy, while I am at Hogwarts."

There was another deliberate pause. "Kneel," Voldemort ordered.

Draco knelt obediently, keeping his eyes on the ground. Voldemort stood up and folded the sleeves of Draco's robes up, revealing his left forearm. Draco felt those long fingers touch his arm and stilled the shudder attempting to run through him

Voldemort pointed his wand at a point somewhere on Draco's forearm. "_Morsmordium_," he hissed.

An intense pain, as if something was being branded onto his arm with a red-hot poker, hit him. Draco bit his lip hard and struggled against crying out. Another agonising minute later it was all over. Draco tasted blood in his mouth.

"Stand."

Draco stood. His knees were shaky and his legs were threatening to buckle under him. His arm still seared with pain.

"Let us hope your service shall not fail, Draco Malfoy," Voldemort said coldly, a warning of what were to happen if Draco screwed up too many times.

"Yes, my lord," Draco gasped. Not knowing if he had been dismissed yet, he waited.

"Dismissed," Voldemort said finally.

Draco knelt again before standing and turning away. His back felt very exposed, and it took a great deal to walk calmly out of the room when his heart was beating furiously in his chest and his arm was still agony and his legs were threatening to give way at any moment.

When he was back in the corridor he allowed himself a little groan of pain and he gripped his forearm tightly. He wondered if it was bleeding. He dared not look at the Mark, the ugly thing he had seen his father wear.

He must not have noticed his father enter Voldemort's room, because a few minutes later Lucius Malfoy had emerged from the door, hurrying towards him.

"Come along," he said sharply, for the benefit of another Death-Eater, who had been passing by. Lowering his voice, he continued, "Very good. He was extremely pleased. Considering he's not too pleased with me at the moment."

"Right," Draco said through gritted teeth as they hurried out of the mansion. Mixed feelings were running through him. There was a lot of shock at realising he finally had the Mark, relief at having escaped without being tortured or anything bad happening, horror at what he was getting himself into, and rising up, like a bubble, anger that the first thing his father had said had not been, "How are you?" but thoughts on whether he had played his role well.

What really made him snap, however, was reaching home and having his mother ask, "How did it go? Was he impressed?" instead of, "How are you?" again.

Mr. Malfoy had opened his mouth to reply but Draco beat him to it.

"It went great," Draco said shortly. "Dad says he was really pleased. Of course, it hurt like hell and I was damn terrified, but that doesn't matter, does it?"

"Oh, darling, I –"

"I've just had the scariest day of my life and the only thing both of you can think of is whether or not You-Know-Who was happy," Draco spat. "I've got _this_," he pulled up the sleeve of his robe –"burned onto me and that's all you think about?"

"Darling –"

"It doesn't fucking matter what I think, all you care about is what I do and how well I do it," Draco said bitterly. "If I dropped dead tomorrow you'd probably think of how you've lost a spy – Merlin, you've never even stopped to _consider_ how I feel, you're so caught up with –"

"You will _not_ speak to your father and me in that way, Draco," Mrs. Malfoy snapped.

"Why not?" Draco challenged. "It's true, isn't it? I hate my life and all you care about is how I play my roles."

"Up to your room, Draco," Lucius Malfoy said quietly. Draco knew his father was angry, now – his voice had become dangerously low, deadly calm.

"I'll go," Draco said shortly, "But only because I want to." He turned on his heel and left, feeling his hands ball themselves up into his fists.

Draco stayed in his room for most of the day and the day after, too. Arra the house elf took his meals to him. He refused to see his parents and after a while they stopped knocking on his door.

Draco took a peek at his Dark Mark in the early afternoon, the day after he had gotten it. He caught a glimpse of the skull, with the snake protruding out of its mouth before shivering and covering his arm quickly with the sleeve of his robe. To have something so foul branded upon his arm …

But he had it, now. That evil, ugly mark. Even house elves weren't branded. Draco sighed. There was nothing he could do about it, either. Would he be free from all this after the war was over, when he did not have to pretend any more? He certainly hoped so.

_I have to believe that_, Draco thought. _If I don't I won't be able to do this. _It was a thought that always got him going again. When the war was over – again, he thought in terms of when, not if – he would be free. He could do whatever he liked, not caring about how it would look. He could finally have some real friends …

Draco came down for lunch the day after. His mother was not in the dining room. He supposed she was down below the drawing room with his father. He didn't mind. He didn't really want to talk to either of his parents. _They can stay down there for all I care_, Draco thought, stuffing mashed potato and stew into his mouth.

After lunch he shut himself into the potion room. There were shelves upon shelves of bottled potions in here, an entire wall of bookcases full of potion recipe books and cabinets full of potions ingredients. Two cauldrons, a worktable on the side of each, stood in the middle of the room. You could brew almost any potion here, from a simple Shrinking Solution to complicated Healing Potions, as long as there were ingredients in supply.

Draco enjoyed concocting Potions. He could spend hours in the potion room, looking through potion recipes, making different potions and putting them on the shelves. It was one of the reasons why he did very well in Potions class and why Potions was his favourite subject.

_No problem getting an 'Outstanding' OWL for Potions_, Draco thought as he scanned through the books on one of the bookshelves. He was looking for one that contained a recipe for an Invisibility Potion that would make any surface it touched invisible for an hour. It was an extremely complicated and difficult potion to make as it required very precise timing, but as Draco wanted to do something that would keep his mind busy, it was perfect for his needs.

_Found it._ Draco pulled down _'Potions for Stealth'_ and rifled through the pages. Once he found his page he set the book down on one of the work tables, ran his finger down the list of ingredients and set to work, referring to the book constantly as he weighed, measured and chopped up the various ingredients. He was just about to add the first ingredient into the cauldron when he was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"What is it?" he asked, setting the two unicorn hairs onto the worktable.

His mother came in. "I thought I'd find you in here." She closed the door behind her.

"What do you want?" Draco asked coolly.

She pretended she hadn't noticed his coldness. "What are you making?"

"Invisibility Potion," Draco said shortly, turning to the book. He furrowed his forehead, making it appear he'd turned back to making the potion, but he was really waiting for his mother to leave.

Mrs. Malfoy crossed the room to him. "If you don't want to be a Death-Eater, you don't have to be."

Draco looked up at her, surprised.

"If it's making you this unhappy," his mother continued, "then stop. You're right, darling, you never asked for our life."

Draco couldn't speak. He was stunned.

"It'll mean you won't be able to see us often, especially your father. You won't be living here. The Dark Lord will come after you, so you'll probably be under the Order's wing – and you're sixteen already, so you don't need a specific guardian." His mother's face was pained. "If you're going just ask Arra to pack your bags."

There was silence after this extraordinary pronouncement. Draco knew his parents had invested almost their entire lives to becoming spies, on the chance they might come across something that would enable Voldemort to be killed. Turning back on their roles was completely out of the question. Yet here his mother was, offering him something that would create complications and maybe cast doubt on their cover story. Draco Malfoy, the Slytherins all thought, _wanted_ to become a Death-Eater.

"Don't be daft," Draco finally managed. "I'm not leaving. I'll stick it out. I'll hate it, but I'll stay. If I leave it could fall apart –"

"Id rather it fell apart than you hating your own life," Narcissa said quietly. "Your father and I have dedicated years to spying for the Order, but we also want you to be happy, we want you to have the best. I think we might have forgotten that sometimes."

"You're just – really focused on what you do," Draco said. "I really don't want to be a Death-Eater, you know."

"I know," Mrs. Malfoy sighed. "Perhaps we shouldn't have forced you."

Draco knew this was the closest he would get to his mother admitting she was wrong. He didn't say anything in response, but he had lost his frosty exterior. Draco turned to his ingredients and started pounding his roots with the pestle and mortar again, though they had already been turned to powder.

Mrs. Malfoy waited until Draco had consulted the potion book again before prompting, "Well?"

Draco set down the pestle. "I'll stay," he said finally. "I'd like out more than anything, but if I leave I won't be able to see you and Dad. And who knows how long the war'll be?" Draco picked up the unicorn hairs. "Want to help with the Potion?"

"You know I can't do them," Draco's mother smiled. "Go on ahead." She turned to leave and was almost at the door when she remembered, "Your Aunt Sarah is coming for dinner tonight. We'll be eating in the dining room."

"All right. Does that mean Dad's not joining us?"

"I'm afraid not. Enjoy your potion-making, darling."

Aunt Sarah was Lucius Malfoy's only sister. Draco rather liked her, but didn't like the fact that she was a Death-Eater. They actually got along quite well with each other and she was by far Draco's favourite relative. Compared to his mother's sister, Bellatrix, Draco had to be content with what he got. Aunt Andromeda didn't count, because as far as the Black and Malfoy clan were concerned, she didn't exist.

Draco finished his Invisibility Potion about an hour before Aunt Sarah was due to arrive. It was a clear, transparent liquid that was rather thick, and glooped into the beaker Draco poured it into. His cauldron, Draco noted, was only half visible. Its bottom part couldn't be seen at all.

Draco dipped his finger into the potion. According to the book, no one had yet come up with an Invisibility Potion that could be _drunk._ _They should call it a lotion_, Draco thought as he took his finger out.

A broad grin spread across his face. He couldn't see the end of his finger anymore. His index finger ended in what appeared to be a stump, and as the potion dripped onto the worktable a hole appeared there.

_I can have a lot of fun with this._ Draco worked quickly and when he was done he took care to wipe off any extra potion. He half regretted making do much now – in an hour's time it would all be useless.

Draco found his mother in the drawing room. She was on the sofa, reading a book.

Draco checked to make sure he wasn't dripping, then stumbled into the drawing room. His mother looked up at the sound and Draco saw her gape, thunderstruck. Draco walked unsteadily to the coffee table, banged against it and turned right.

For what Mrs. Malfoy saw was this: a pair of legs, apparently unattached to any body, stumbling around and knocking into things.

Draco's mother didn't move for several seconds. Then she brandished her wand, pointed it at Draco's legs and said, "_Locomotor mortis_."

At once, his legs snapped together and Draco had to throw out his hands to keep from falling flat on his face. "Oh, great."

"Draco?" He saw his mother furrow her eyebrows. Then she snapped the book shut and strode over to him. "You! Playing a prank like that … you're half invisible, aren't you? What if I'd blasted you into pieces?"

"Well, I thought it was funny," Draco's voice came from near the carpet.

"It wasn't," she snapped. "You deserve to be punished for scaring me like that. I thought someone had gone and splinched themselves." Then she turned and went back to the sofa.

"Wait. Aren't you going to perform to counter-curse?" Draco said as Mrs. Malfoy picked up her book.

She smiled. Draco decided this was not a good thing and he was right. "I think I'll leave the curse on you for a while."

"What?"

"I think you deserve it, don't you?" And she began reading again.

"Well – are you going to help me up, at least?" Draco asked, though he could guess the answer.

He guessed right, too. His mother amused herself by watching and listening as Draco tried to stand upright while his legs were bound by the Leg-Locker Curse. In the end, he managed it by grabbing onto the windowsill and pulling himself upright.

And then he tried to hop to the sofa before tripping and falling flat on his face.

Ten minutes later he had made it to the sofa, feeling all hot and bothered. Wishing he was of age to use magic outside school, he grabbed a magazine from the coffee table (and almost fell off the sofa) before beginning to fan himself with it.

Draco glared at his mother, but as his head was invisible it hardly had an effect on her. "I'm glaring at you right now."

"All right, darling," she smiled, and then turned the page of her book.

Draco gave an annoyed sort of grunt and fanned himself harder.

"You might want to go upstairs and change for dinner," Mrs. Malfoy said presently.

"Are you going to –"

"No."

Draco sighed and got up from the sofa with difficulty. This was going to be a long process. Maybe Arra could help bring his robes to him …

"And don't ask Arra for help, either."

Draco was not looking at all dignified when he met Aunt Sarah at the door of the Manor, something his mother had made him do. The Invisibility potion had worn off by then and his flushed cheeks and messy hair could now be seen.

"Draco!" Aunt Sarah gave him a light hug and the boy almost fell, managing to catch onto the door just in time. "What in Merlin –?"

"Long story," Draco apologised. "Would you mind unlocking me?"

She did and Draco led her to the drawing room. Aunt Sarah was, like Lucius, fair, with a pointed face and silvery blond hair that ran down past her shoulders. She had a bit more colour in her cheeks, though, and was quite a bit shorter than her brother (and now, Draco – for he had grown much over the holidays).

Draco's mother and her sister-in-law bumped cheeks together and then settled down for a bit of small talk, as was usual while they waited for dinner to be served.

"I would like to see more of your paintings, Narcissa," Aunt Sarah said, after the 'how are you's had been done. "They really are quite wonderful."

Mrs. Malfoy nodded a little. "Thank you. I'm sure we'll have time after dinner … and perhaps you could sell a few, as well?" Aunt Sarah was owner of the Galleria's English branch in Diagon Alley, an art gallery with its origins in Nice, France. As a result she also helped Voldemort smuggle items into the country.

"Of course. I don't suppose you've taken up painting, Draco?" Aunt Sarah asked.

Draco shook his head rather vehemently. "Can't paint. I _can_ do potions, though."

"Oh, yes, we've actually got quite a supply of Pepper-Up Potion and healing Ointment," Draco's mother said. "I'll have the house elf bring them before you leave."

Conversation went along in this same vein for a while before Arra came in. She was wearing a tea cosy with an elaborate 'M' on it and had artfully bandaged her right hand. She also winced a bit as she came in. It gave the impression that she was mistreated, as Dobby had done before her.

"Mistress," she squeaked. "Mistress, Arra has served dinner. Arra hopes that –"

"You're late, as usual. Our guest arrived fifteen minutes ago," Narcissa Malfoy said coldly.

Arra bowed her head. "Arra is most sorry, Mistress –"

"Just get out of here," Narcissa said impatiently. The house elf bowed and left, wincing again as she disappeared. Draco's mother turned back to her guest, shaking her head. "So difficult to find good elves nowadays. Well, shall we start dinner, then?"

Dinner, Draco though, was very good. He also appreciated that his aunt mentioned nothing of Voldemort or his Dark Mark. Draco didn't fancy talking about it, especially over dinner. After dinner they retreated to the drawing room again and Draco challenged his aunt to a game of chess; like his father, she was very good at it and Draco had yet to beat her. There was no mention of seeing Lucius Malfoy in the secret room, as they didn't know if they were being watched.

"Draco," his aunt said presently. "When do you come of age?"

"October," Draco replied, not looking up from the chess board, where he was trying to formulate a plan to checkmate Aunt Sarah's king. "Why do you ask?"

"Well," she smiled, "There's one thing the Malfoys have prided themselves upon doing illegally without the Ministry of Magic finding out."

"What's that?" Draco asked curiously, looking up.

"You'll find out when you turn seventeen," she said mysteriously. "I do hope you mange it without getting caught. You'll be the first Malfoy to get caught if you do and believe me, that's not an honour."

"But what _is_ it?" Draco asked. He saw that his mother was beginning to smile. "You know, don't you, mum?"

"Of course she does," Draco's aunt said. "And you'll find out when you're of age."

No matter how hard Draco tried to persuade his aunt ad mother to tell him, they kept their mouths firmly shut. And when Draco questioned his father the next day, and the days after that, he just smiled and told him to wait.

"Patience is a virtue, you know." And Lucius Malfoy laughed as Draco flung himself onto the sofa in frustration.

**A/N: Argh. My left hand has cramped out from all the typing. See, look, I spent two hours doing this, and I'm still halfway through HBP… :P and loving it. Ahh, Draco…**

**I've not time to do my usual thank you's, I'm afraid…**

**But a big THANK YOU to everyone's who reviewed, and I'll be waiting for some more :P heh. Even though I should be slapped for not updating for so long :P**


	5. Arrival at Hogwarts

**A/N: Heh. This one didn't take so long to write, I'm not really sure why … maybe the release of HBP has given me more motivation? Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter … and don't forget to review!**

**Chapter 5: Arrival at Hogwarts**

"Bye, Mum," Draco said lightly. Mrs. Malfoy smiled and then Disapparated. There were no hugs or kisses when Draco left for Hogwarts on the train, because the Malfoys didn't do that kind of thing. Not in public, anyway.

All around him now students were milling about, some with their parents. They were carrying trunks, some with animal cages in hand. Amidst the hustle and bustle there was a tense atmosphere, as well. A lot of disappearances had happened in the weeks leading up to the start of the school year.

There was a new Minister for Magic, too; Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical law Enforcement. Rufus Scrimgeour had taken her place as Head of that Department, and Chadwick Murray had become Head of Auror Office for only three days before disappearing. The title went to Charles Hashborough after that.

Draco noticed a few Aurors on the platform. He recognized Janid Lucer, her hard eyes flicking around the platform and scrutinising students. Draco assumed that this was one of the extra security measures that had been mounted now that Voldemort was back and very active.

"Well," Draco said, turning to Crabbe, who was on his left, "You know what to do with this." And he handed him his trunk. Crabbe grunted and took it. He was still as big as ever, though shorter than Draco now. Quite an achievement form the blond, as Crabbe had been a head taller before, and was now half-a-head shorter.

He was taller than Goyle now, too, though Goyle was still taller than Crabbe. "Goyle," Draco ordered. "Go and see which compartment Potter's in." He had to make his usual visit, after all. _Except this time_, Draco thought, _I'm not going to get hexed._ The memory of the last train journey was still painful. And … Draco grimaced. So was the one before that.

Goyle nodded and got onto the train just as the whistle blew. Draco followed with Crabbe behind him, straining with the effort of carrying his own and Draco's trunk. It didn't help that he had his own owl cage with him, too. Draco led the way to the prefects' carriage.

Crabbe and Goyle weren't actually as stupid as they looked, but they were still dim. Draco pretty much got them to do whatever he wanted, as long as he didn't insult them. Draco also knew, however, that if he had not been sitting on the topmost rung of the Slytherin social ladder then they would not be helping him at that moment. In Slytherin, social position was everything.

The same applied for Pansy Parkinson. When Draco entered the prefect carriage he saw Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley there already. Hermione's face was as pretty, and her hair as bushy, as ever. Then Draco saw Pansy, with her pug-nosed face. Ignoring Ron and Hermione, he put a self-satisfied smile on his face as he sauntered over to her, bent down, tilted her chin up and kissed her. Ron made a retching sound behind him.

Pansy and Draco were dating. They had been doing so ever since the Yule Ball, though both had quickly agreed that doing so was without any emotional commitment to each other. Pansy and Draco were, respectively, the most popular girl and boy in Slytherin. It seemed natural they should get together. And it would boost their popularity even more. In short, their relationship was purely business, and purely physical. It was how things were at Slytherin.

Draco broke the kiss. "I'm sorry, Weasley," he said smuggle as he turned to face Ron, "it must be hard if the only thing you've kissed is your mum," he gave a theatrical sigh. "But I'm afraid you'll have to get used to not getting any."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Hermione snapped, giving Ron a warning tug. "Ron's just got higher standards than _you_."

"Yeah," said Ron, recovering. "I can't believe you can stand to kiss _her_."

Draco raised his eyebrows as Pansy hissed, furious at the insult. Crabbe had managed to put Draco's trunk onto the luggage rack and he went out to find Goyle. "I'm not the one with the Mudblood, Weasley."

Ron leapt up, brandishing his wand. "Don't call her that!"

"What is going on here?" Katie Bell stormed in. "Ron, put your wand away."

"Someone's got a temper," Draco said lazily. He took his seat next to Pansy.

"He was insulting –" Ron began.

"As Prefects, I want you to be civil," Katie snapped. "I'm having enough trouble with the sixth-years; I don't need this, too."

"Are you Head Girl, then? That's great!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Thanks …" Katie smiled, though she still looked rather harried. "Now, you all know what to do, don't you? I'll be off, then." She turned to leave then spun back around. "Oh, Chadwick Murray's Head Boy."

Ron started. "What?"

"I thought Chadwick Murray was the wizard who was murdered?" frowned Hermione.

Draco snorted. "I thought you were supposed to be bright, Granger"

Ron shot him a venomous look but Hermione acted as if she hadn't heard him at all. "Unless …" realization dawned on her face. "Oh!"

Katie nodded. There was a hint of sadness when she next spoke. "Chadwick's his son. Named after his father." She sighed heavily. "Look, don't give him trouble, any of you." And she looked hard at Draco before she left.

Draco snorted again.

"Of course," sad Ron quietly, "we all know who's responsible for that. Your father and his friends."

Draco considered putting on a very ugly face but settled on latching a grin onto his features instead. "Maybe, Weasley. I wouldn't be about to tell you, now, would I?"

Ron opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by Pansy Parkinson, who reached over, fingered a new badge Draco was wearing and exclaimed, "Quidditch Captain, Draco! You didn't tell me!"

"Surprise, love," he smirked. Inwardly, though, he was trying very hard to forget about Chadwick Murray's murder and the role his father had played in it. Draco understood that his father was close enough to Voldemort to be called upon to lead or be part of cruel murders and disappearances, but he didn't like to think of his father being part of those ventures. He didn't want to think about the things his father had to have done in ventures like that.

"So are you going to change the line-up, or keep the old one?" Pansy asked.

Draco shrugged. "We'll see. I'll tell you one thing, though …" Draco lowered his voice so Ron and Hermione couldn't hear him. "We _have_ to change the Beaters." Pansy looked surprised. "Look, they're my friends, but there _have_ to be better Beaters in Slytherin."

Ron muttered something to Hermione, who nodded, and they both got up from their seats. They were about to leave when Goyle entered the compartment. "He's not on the train, Draco."

"What do you mean he's not on the train?" Draco said irritably. "Of course he's here!"

"We can't find him," Goyle said.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Excuse us!" Ron said loudly to Goyle as the blond muttered, "Useless."

"I heard you," Pansy said playfully to Draco.

He smirked. "Well, it's true, isn't it?" He got up. "You might want to try looking for your friend, Weasley," he said loudly. Ron turned to him. "He seems to be, ah … missing."

Incredibly, and to Draco's immense annoyance, Ron smiled. "Shows what you know, eh?"

Draco bumped Ron very hard as he strode out into the corridor, ignoring his "Hey!" and "Just because you're a Prefect doesn't mean I can't punish you, Malfoy!"

_I think it's safe to conclude Potter's _not_ on the train, after all._ Draco strode quickly past train compartments, Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle behind him. _I wonder where he is? Surely he doesn't need to go to Hogwarts separately?_

"Oi, no running in the corridors," Draco snapped at a few second-years, who stopped immediately with rather apprehensive looks on their faces. Draco had bullied these same students the year before.

_Ah, to be feared and hated …_ Draco thought humourlessly. _Reminds me of a certain Dark Lord …_

"Draco Malfoy." Draco turned. The voice belonged to Nefarious Blake, a Slytherin in Draco's year. He was very good-looking, with dark hair that fell over his forehead and hazel brown eyes. Draco also disliked him very much, because in the past they'd been fighting for the top of the Slytherin social ladder and now for Voldemort's favour as well.

"Nefarious. Good summer?" Draco asked. He put on a front, as usual. Etiquette demanded they be polite, and not throw obvious insults at each other.

"Better than you," Nefarious returned, a tad smugly. Draco knew why.

Draco had been called to only one meeting with Voldemort after he'd gotten the Mark and it hadn't gone very well. By that time most of the Slytherins that were of age or nearing it had already taken the Mark and it seemed Voldemort wanted to see them all together. By the end of it Draco was left with the distinct impression that Voldemort liked Nefarious Blake better, and that any mistake he made would be paid for dearly.

"I expect good service from you, Draco," the Dark Lord had told him. "Or you might find that death is a long way away from pain. Your father could do well to remember it, too. I daresay you've never experienced the Cruciatus Curse?" And then he laughed a high, cold laugh that still sent shivers down Draco's back when he thought about it.

_Should I have been more enthusiastic at the prospect of joining Death Eater raids when I come of age? Merlin knows Nefarious Blake was ecstatic …_

"Come join us, we were just discussing the summer," Nefarious invited, indicating the compartment beside him.

"Don't mind if I do." Draco swept past him and entered the compartment. "Ah, Nott, Lucinda." Theodore Nott nodded in return and Lucinda Balle, another Slytherin, gave him a very sweet smile. No secret that everyone wanted to replace Pansy Parkinson as Draco's girlfriend; becoming his girlfriend almost certainly guaranteed status as one of the most popular girls in Slytherin, though it would take more to grab the title of _most_ popular girl, as Pansy had.

Lucinda looked disappointed when Draco took the empty seat by the window instead of the one next to her, and disappointment turned to ill-concealed jealousy as Pansy traipsed in right behind Nefarious and sat down next to Draco, taking his hand in hers as she did so. She had always been territorial where Lucinda was concerned.

Draco saw a muscle twitch in Nefarious' jaw as he saw what pansy was doing. More to annoy him than anything else, Draco pulled Pansy closer to him, and she obliged by hopping onto his lap and wrapping her arms around him.

_Not exactly what I was going for … but it'll do,_ Draco thought as both nefarious and Lucinda scowled.

Goyle took Pansy's vacated seat as Crabbe closed the compartment door and sat down next to him.

"So," Nefarious began when it looked like Pansy was just about to lean in for a kiss, having caressed Draco's hair to the extreme annoyance of Nefarious and Lucinda, and the hidden resignation of Draco himself, "Have you received any orders yet?"

"From _him_, you mean?" asked Draco. Nott looked up from his book, suddenly interested.

Nefarious nodded. "Have you? Because _I_ have," he gloated.

Draco smiled. "I'm on my second assignment," he lied. In truth, Voldemort had asked him to do nothing, which had been a relief. However, this news that Nefarious had already been called to do something made him uncomfortable. If he wasn't careful, Nefarious would soon take his place as Pansy's boyfriend.

The dark-haired sixteen-year-old looked surprised; he wasn't the only one, however. Pansy and Lucinda both had their mouths slightly open and Nott had closed his book, eyebrows furrowed, frowning at him.

"I was rather under the impression that you _didn't_ give a good impression at the time," he said sharply.

Draco smirked. "Shows what you know."

"Well, what was your assignment, then?" demanded Nefarious.

"Unimportant," Draco drawled. "Well, the first one, anyway. You know the second, of course … we're doing the same thing." Nott was still frowning. Draco ignored him.

"You mean, how to communicate with him from inside Hogwarts?" Nefarious said blankly. "Without going through Snape?"

_Aha. Stupid idiot gave it away just like that. So easy …_ Draco nodded. "Exactly. Whoever makes communication first … that'll be me, of course - wins. And you'll just be second best."

"We'll see about that," retorted Nefarious.

Nott broke in before Draco could respond. "You're real stupid, Blake."

_That's a break of etiquette_, Draco thought, amused, as Nefarious fired up. "What do you mean by that?"

"Any idiot would know that _he_ wasn't pleased with Draco," Nott nodded at the blond. "There was no assignment. He was trying to get you to tell him what _your_ assignment was, dimwit."

"I knew you were bright, Nott," Draco said to him, and Nott scowled.

"You're lucky I don't want spotlight."

"No, you like your solitude, don't you?" Draco agreed. "And you don't want to lead." For that was what, ultimately, Voldemort's favourite would do one day.

"Are you telling me …" Nefarious began.

"Maybe. I'm not about to tell you," Draco interrupted, and he kissed Pansy. Nefarious looked incensed.

* * *

"Is that …"

"The new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, yeah," Harry said as Ron and Hermione sat down on either side of him.

She was a very pretty, fair, rather young woman with long auburn hair and pale blue eyes. Her mouth was set in a pout. Perfectly manicured nails featured on her long fingers, which were drumming impatiently on the staff table in front of her.

"Not bad," Ron commented. Hermione snorted.

"Well, anything's better than that Umbridge," Harry said, surreptitiously avoiding looking at his right hand.

"Damn, please tell me that's not the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, someone groaned. Harry had half-turned before realising it was Draco Malfoy, who was just passing the Gryffindor table.

"Looks like Malfoy isn't happy with Umbridge's replacement," commented Harry as he turned back to the table.

Hermione looked over her shoulder. "He looks absolutely horrified," she said and Ron nodded. "Surely she can't be worse than Umbridge?" she wondered.

"Or maybe," Ron suggested, "He's horrified because she's a Muggle-born, or a 'blood traitor' as he'd call it. You know, horrified that the school let in someone of inferior blood or something."

"That'd be just like him," Harry said disgustedly. "Anyway, how was the train ride?"

Ron shrugged. "It was alright. Katie Bell's Head Girl."

"Good for her," Harry enthused.

"What did you do?"

"Well," Harry lowered his voice. "Dumbledore wanted to see me. He's going to be giving me private lessons, so no more Occlumency with Snape."

Hermione looked surprised and happy at the same time. "Wow, Harry! Is he just continuing Snape's lessons, or is he doing other things as well?"

"I dunno," Harry shrugged.

"I think it should be other things as well," Hermione mused. "You know … things that can help you." She didn't voice the obvious: _things that can help you fight Voldemort._ Harry had told his best friends about the prophecy, when he'd felt reasonably ready to share. He felt it was something they had to know, even if it would terrify them which it did.

"The Sorting," Ron said suddenly, as Professor McGonagall came in holding the Sorting Hat, followed by a group of first-years. There were less first-years than the year before, and Harry noticed that one of the first-years, a boy with blond hair and freckles, looked miserable. He had to be the Muggle-born whose family had been murdered by Voldemort, the boy staying with Marian Garr. Harry felt, not for the first time, immense hatred at Voldemort, at Lucius Malfoy, the Death-Eaters … they were the ones that were doing this, they were the ones making so much harm …

The Sorting went on without any major hiccoughs, unless you counted the girl who was so enraptured by the Enchanted Ceiling that she didn't realise McGonagall had called out her name. The blond boy, Torey James, was sorted into Gryffindor.

The feast was magnificent, a bit quieter than normal but still full of chatter. Voldemort had yet to make his mark on the students of the school, though there were a few subdued areas; mainly the end of the Ravenclaw table where Head Boy Chadwick Murray sat, and at the Gryffindor table, Torey James sat picking at his food.

After all the plates had been cleared away. Dumbledore stood up to make his usual speech. The auburn-haired witch was introduced as Professor Rashyn Buchet, the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Harry noticed Draco had a very sour look on his face as the rest of the school clapped. Then Dumbledore grew sombre as he looked around the Hall at the students.

"Now, as you all know, Lord Voldemort is back and active again." Immediately the atmosphere became tense, and Torey James looked up at the Headmaster for the first time. "Times now are dangerous, and you must all be careful. New security measures have been taken to give us more protection and I trust all of you to abide by them. The castle's magical fortifications have also been strengthened. If any of you should notice anything suspicious, report to one of the teachers. Do not take matters into your own hands. I trust you to behave responsibly both for yourselves and others. Above all, be alert and careful."

Then he smiled. "Now, I know you are all eager to climb into your beds, so goodnight!"

Instantly the volume of sound rose in the Great Hall as the students stood up and made their way out. Harry joined the throng as Hermione and Ron resumed their duties as Prefects. NO Ginny to walk with, either; she'd been made a Prefect, too.

Harry met Neville Longbottom on the third floor. "Hi, Neville."

"Oh, hey, Harry!" Neville smiled. "I didn't see you on the train!" Neville had, like many of the people Harry had seen, grown taller. He was also holding a very familiar stunted plant.

"I got here early," Harry explained.

Neville was surprised. "I didn't know you could do that!" Harry shrugged. "So … how's your summer been?"

"Er – alright," Harry said as they climbed a flight of stairs.

"Did you hear about Sirius Black? He was innocent after all!" Neville shook his head. "But, I dunno … third year …"

"He _was_ innocent," Harry said vehemently, feeling a pang of sadness as he did so. The Ministry had issued a statement during the holidays about Sirius' innocence, and how he had died. Neville couldn't know that Sirius had been his godfather, and that he'd meant so much to Harry. "You've still got that _'mimbulus mimbletonia'_ then?" he changed the subject quickly, pointing at the stunted plant Neville was holding.

"Yeah," Neville nodded. He didn't seem to have noticed Harry's eagerness to change the subject. "It's growing really well. And the defence mechanism is still just as good … but," Neville added quickly, "I won't try it out, don't worry."

Harry smiled, remembering the last time Neville had poked his plant, in the train to Hogwarts the year before.

Harry's thoughts turned to Sirius as he lay in bed that night. His godfather … gone. Harry remembered the flare of hope that he'd had at the prospect of living with him. It would never happen now. He'd never see him, talk to him, again. He could still see his godfather, in his mind's eye, with that bark of a laugh … and suddenly, Harry smiled as he remembered Sirius' stories of what he and Harry's father had done in their schooldays … Sirius in Animagus form, jumping on Harry to say goodbye on the train platform …

For the first time, when Harry dreamt of Sirius that night, it was with a smile on his face. He still had the memories, the happy ones. And Sirius was challenging him to a game of Quidditch …

* * *

**A/N: I would like to thank all my wonderful reviewers, and I hope you all enjoyed the chapter. I'm not sure when the next one will be up, I haven't even started on chapter 6 yet … but I will try to be quick :P I had a little trouble with Dumbledore's speech, I was trying really hard to have his speech _not _sound like the one in HBP …**

**My reviewers, thank you so so much! You've helped me reach the big 50 :P A little note, though … I _have_ noticed some people reading, putting this story on alert or faves or things like that … but never once reviewing! Don't get me wrong, I _love_ that you've put this on alerts or your faves list … but I would also love if you reviewed, because then I'd be getting more feedback, and every author loves her reviews. Especially constructive criticism :P that way I get to improve.**

* * *

**horseluver13**

**Sickle Sword**

**Snow-kitten1:** Hee, I finished HBP in the first 24 hrs of buying it, too!

**theLastBLACK17**

**FalconWing**

**foxeran**

**Miz Thang**

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**And now, if you would all do me the pleasure of clicking on the review button …**


	6. Twin Thing

**A/N: Hello, peeps! Hope you all like this chapter, I especially especially enjoyed writing the second half of it…there's some action coming up in this chapter :P so, yeah, start reading!**

**Oh, yeah…I did a tiny bit of editing on Chapter 4, at the end…but nothing big. Also edited Draco's O.W.L. results…he didn't fail Herbology, he failed Care of Magical Creatures instead.**

**Chapter 6: Twin Thing**

The good mood Draco had had at the beginning of breakfast dissipated quickly upon the arrival of a certain auburn-haired young woman, who sat herself carefully down on the staff table and picked up a croissant daintily between her thumb and forefinger.

_Rashyn Buchet … Merlin, she's so _annoying!_ Why do I have to get her as a teacher? She should have stayed in France …_ Draco thought grumpily, poking at his soggy cornflakes.

Professor Snape was going around the Slytherin table, making and giving out timetables to the students. Nefarious Blake, who had gotten six O.W.L.s, took all the same subjects as Pansy. None of his so-called Slytherin friends had made it into Snape's Advanced Potions class, for which he was glad.

"Ah, Draco," Snape said to him after finishing with Goyle. "Top Potions grade, I see. You'll be continuing with the subject, I hope?"

"Oh, yes, sir," Draco smiled. _I wouldn't give that up for the world …_

Snape's lip curled in the direction of the other Slytherins. "You're the only one who had enough brains to make it into the class." Then he smiled at his favourite student. "Well done."

"I try my best, Professor," Draco smirked.

"What other subjects will you be taking?"

"Herbology, Transfiguration, Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts and Ancient Runes," Draco replied.

Snape tapped his wand on the piece of parchment before giving it to Draco and moving onto Crabbe. Draco ran his finger down the list of subjects to be had that day and groaned. "Double Defence Against the Dark Arts today!"

"Is she really that bad?" Pansy asked.

"Yes. She's damn annoying." Draco checked his watch. "We also share the similar feeling of extreme dislike for each other. And the owl post is due."

"Expecting anything?"

"Not really … but we'll see, eh?"

Sure enough, hundreds of owls now flew into the Great Hall, carrying letters and packages. An eagle owl Draco recognised as his father's soared onto the table and deposited a letter into Draco's open hand.

Draco scanned quickly through the letter at first, then reread it more slowly. Then he reread it again. _No way. He's got to be bloody joking._

But he wasn't and Draco knew it. His family had a certain code when it came to letter-writing, full of hidden meanings and word alteration. To an outsider, the letter was from his mother, but the use of the words _'Your mother,'_ instead of _'Love,'_ told Draco his father was the one the letter was from. And the hidden contents of the letter were dark indeed …

Draco got up so quickly from the table that Pansy gasped. "What's wrong? Where are you going?"

"Forgot something," he said shortly. When Crabbe and Goyle stood up to follow him, he snapped, "No. You stay."

He knew where Dumbledore's office was. Up to the second floor, left to the statue of the gargoyle … it was here that Draco paused. What was the password? Something to do with sweets … but what kind?

"Chocolate Frog." _Too common, that one. _"Blood Lollipops." The gargoyle didn't move. "Levitating Sherbets. Cockroach Cluster. Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. Blast it, there's about a gazillion sweets in the world! Even those stupid Fainting Fancies beans they sell at … bloody hell, Fainting Fancies?"

Amazed at his luck (and the Headmaster's odd taste) Draco hurried up the revolving staircase. He knocked on the Headmaster's door. "Come in," a voice beckoned and Draco opened the door.

"Good morning, Professor."

"Draco! To what do I owe this visit?" Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk. A book lay open in front of him, filled with diagrams and symbols.

Draco laid his father's letter on the desk. "There's going to be an attack. Today."

Instantly it seemed the intensity of the gaze upon him tripled, and Dumbledore beckoned for Draco to sit down. "Where?"

Draco told him. "It's the afternoon, around noon. They're aiming for panic, chaos, death …"

Dumbledore reached for the letter. "It says here your mother plans to do a bit of shopping in Diagon Alley, and she hopes she doesn't come across any hooligans."

"Exactly, sir," Draco said. "Hooligans – Death-Eaters. Shopping – they're going to do what they call 'fun'; torture, kill, cause panic …"

"You're sure about this?"

"Very, Professor," Draco said. He pointed to a part of the letter. "He's going to try and attack there, too – the Dark Lord wants to punish them for making fun of his name."

"It's not his name."

Draco shrugged. "He wants to be respected as that, too, I suppose."

"Is there anything else mentioned in the letter?"

Draco shook his head. Then he stopped. "Well – there is one thing. He wants me to know the Unforgivable Curses. Christmas means practice."

Something passed over Dumbledore's eyes, flickered for a moment, then was gone. "How do you feel about that, Draco?"

"I don't want to. But I'll have to, won't I?" Draco gave a bitter smile.

He arrived late for Defence Against the Dark Arts, which was the first lesson of the day. "Sorry I'm late, Professor –"

"Twelve minutes, Mr. Malfoy." Professor Rashyn Buchet smiled humourlessly. "I'll take twelve points from Slytherin, then. And as you are late, you will also sit next to Miss Hermione Granger. For the rest of the year."

Draco gaped and glanced at Hermione. She was sitting in the front-most row in front of Harry and Ron. "Professor –"

"You will do as I say. Sit there."

Draco put on a very sour face. As he passed Buchet, she said softly, "I must say, it's nice having you call me Professor – and having all this power over you." Draco ignored her and sat down at the desk next to Hermione, careful to pull his chair as far away as possible.

"As I was saying before the rude interruption of Malfoy here, being able to perform spells without speaking is very important, especially in Defence. Why? Because the Enemy will not know what you're doing. To be able to do this …"

Draco did his best to listen while trying to banish thoughts about how annoying her voice was, how he couldn't stand looking at her for so long, and how she had the incredibly annoying poise and confidence of the social class she had been born in.

"Mr. Malfoy, if you would give me the incantation for a visible Shield Charm."

Draco smirked. He knew this one. She wasn't going to catch him out here …

"Smirk at me again and it'll be five points form Slytherin."

Immediately he stopped. "_Caraceo_."

Buchet nodded and a smile played at her mouth. "Let's see how well you do at non-verbal Defence, shall we?"

Draco, who was sitting down, his wand in his bag, had no time to even bring his wand up, let alone perform the Shield Charm, before the jinx hit him and his legs began twitching, dancing along to a soundless tune, hitting the desk in front of him. He scrambled around to get his wand, which was hard seeing as he threatened to fall off his chair at any moment.

Just as he got his wand out of his bag Buchet performed the counter-jinx. Draco glared at her.

"You need to work on your reflexes." Then she addressed the class. "Pair up with the person beside you and practice trying to jinx and block spells. I will be standing …" she placed herself a good distance away from the students, "Here." Then she waved her wand and the desks and chairs were pushed to the walls, leaving a clear, wide space in the middle. "You may begin."

Draco looked Hermione up and down as if squaring her up. He curled his lip. Hermione merely looked straight at him, coolly regarding his demeanour.

"Me first," Draco said, and he concentrated on a Leg-Locker Curse. He waved his wand and nothing happened. "Damn it!"

Hermione, unsurprisingly, got the hang of it after only a few tries, and Draco spent most of the lesson trying to avoid her spellwork."

"Hell, Granger, you're not supposed to be this good!" Draco said it more to himself than anyone else, but it was both Hermione and Buchet that demanded, "What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing, Professor," Draco smirked.

Before she could respond, Neville miscalculated the jinx he was supposed to be performing, accidentally said it out loud, and a jet of some foul-smelling liquid spattered onto Hermione's robes, a few droplets of which got Professor Rashyn Buchet.

She leapt away from Hermione, a truly scandalised look on her face. She used her wand to clear off the droplets, looking revolted. "Disgusting, urgh … get that off you, I can't even bear to see you looking like that –" with another wave of her wand Hermione was clean, too.

"Sorry, Professor!" Neville came over to them, looking apologetic. "And Hermione." Draco laughed loudly. Everyone ignored him.

"No more messy spells, Mr. Longbottom," she said, still looking rather repulsed. "Try some more _elegant_ spells … that way when your Enemy falls, you don't get splattered in blood or mud or who knows what else!" She swept way from them, steering firmly away from Harry and Ron, who seemed to have had the same idea as Neville.

Neville looked at Hermione. "Elegant?"

* * *

Fred Weasley was in the backroom of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, trying to convince a young man to buy a Shield Hat when his twin brother George came in. 

"Hello, sir, are you buying that?" he asked rather brusquely, striding over to where Fred was.

"I'm not sure yet –"

"All right, then. I'm very sorry, but we're going to have to close for the rest of the day, and we need to clear the premises. Now, we have a fireplace and Floo powder that you can use, I recommend you go straight home –"

"What?" said the young man.

"_What_?" said Fred, meaning something entirely different.

George hesitated for a moment, then he smiled. "It's nothing to worry about. This area's been classified as under high risk at the moment, but there's no immediate danger."

The man looked stunned. "No immediate –"

"Danger, yes. Come on, sir, I'll walk you to the fireplace."

"George –" Fred began. But he was gone, leaving his twin feeling rather confused. Fred stood there for a moment, then went after his twin.

Outside, it was chaotic. The store, which had been filled with excited customers and customers-to-be before, was now filled with anxious, worried faces. A few people ducked out of the shop as Fred took in the scene, and one of the helpers they'd hired was leading customers to the private backroom, presumably, Fred thought, to the fireplace.

Fred began marshalling the customers, though he was still as confused as before. When a frightened person asked him what was happening, he said tersely, "Safety measure. There's no immediate danger yet, so don't worry, but we want to get you out of here as soon as we can."

The crowd in the store was thinning now, and Fred saw, to his surprise, Remus Lupin, who was conversing with a few customers and pointing them to the private backroom.

"Professor!" he called out, and Lupin turned to him.

"We need to speed this up, he'll know by now," Lupin whispered urgently to Fred as he neared.

"Who's he? What's going on?" Fred murmured back. "Yeah, just in through there, nothing to worry about, just a precaution!" he added to another customer.

"Oh, you're Fred –" Lupin looked around, then whispered urgently, "Voldemort –" Fred winced – "is going to attack. Today. He's also sore at your U-No-Poo joke –"

"What? He knows about that?"

Lupin gave a smile. "It's hard not to, with your sign blaring out the window."

"Yeah, but he actually _cares_?"

"Apparently he wants to be respected both by Voldemort –" Fred winced again – "and You-Know-Who. The important thing is, he'll have found out now that we now about the attack, and he might attack early. We don't know how ready his Death-Eaters are, the attack could come anytime between now and the afternoon. You need to get these people out of here."

"Aurors not around?" asked Fred.

"Outside. We don't want to cause a panic, that would slow everything down."

Fred nodded and took out his wand. "_Sonorus_," he muttered, pointing it at his throat. "May I have your attention, please, everyone?" his voice boomed over the shop. Heads turned to him. "Those of you who know how to Apparate, please proceed outside to do so. I – Fred Weasley, that is – will oversee the Apparition, and my brother George is overseeing the fireplace."

"I don't know if –" Lupin began.

"It's faster. That's what we need, isn't it?" Fred led some of the customers outside.

Lupin had his reservations. Outside was where the Death-Eaters would strike first. But Fred was also right in saying it would be faster. Perhaps – no, hopefully – they'd be able to get everyone out before getting away themselves. In all the other shops around Diagon Alley, its owners were emptying their premises.

It was almost surprising to see the readiness in which the Weasley twins fell to responsibility, but Remus supposed that managing a shop (even a joke one) in Diagon Alley, where a few disappearances had already taken place, had taught the twins a lot; responsibility and, among others, the realness of the war.

It had only been a few months. But they were growing up, Remus realised.

He heard the screams as soon as they began, and groaned. There were still people here. He pulled out his wand as Fred came in. "Get these people out of here." Then he was out the door.

Fred knew it was not his place to go out into the street; that was for the Aurors. He'd stay here; he'd help George. And he'd try not to panic thinking about the Dementors that were gliding the streets, providing cover and atmosphere for the Death-Eaters.

Before Fred had reached the middle of the shop, however, people began running in _his_ direction. "What the –"

There were screams coming from the back of the shop, too. "George," Fred whispered, and he began pushing through the crowd, his crowd control and management duties forgotten instantly as he craned for the sight of flaming red hair. None.

Fred pushed further into the shop. He was almost at the backroom now. He was feeling decidedly colder, too, like he had outside right before the Dementors had appeared.

Dementors.

_Shit._

He entered the backroom almost cautiously and saw that part of the wall had been blasted away. The wooden table lay in pieces on the floor and things were thrown haphazardly around. George was pushing a customer into the emerald green flames of the fireplace.

There were about four Dementors gliding about here, and Fred felt as though he was going through some very depressing mood. The Death-Eaters were here, too, hexing, cursing, jinxing.

"_Impedimenta_!" Fred yelled, and a Death-Eater flew up into the air. "George!"

"Got it!" George yelled back, throwing a Stunning Spell at one of the Death-Eaters, who blocked it and threw a curse at him, which he ducked.

Fred found himself the target of two Death-Eater attacks. He ducked the first curse sent at him and sent a curse straight back, before firing off another curse almost immediately after that at the second Death-Eater, and blocking a third curse.

They'd never win in a fight, Fred thought helplessly. They weren't Aurors, they'd never battled before, how could they even have a chance?

Then he realised what was making him feel so hopeless. Silently thanking Harry for the DA lessons he'd had the previous year, Fred ducked behind a cabinet and tried summoning up a happy thought.

"_Expecto Patronum_!"

Nothing happened. _Damn, Harry's right, it's harder with real ones around …_ Fred concentrated again, trying to push out the fear and panic that he wouldn't be able to do it.

_Happy thought, happy thought …_ Fred thought of the first time he and George had opened Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and the tremendous amount of customers they'd got … counting the Galleons …

Smiling slightly, Fred waved his wand again. "_Expecto Patronum_!" he roared, and to his immense delight and relief, a silver fox shot out the end of his wand.

Fred stepped out of the cover of the cabinet and watched, amazed, as the fox ran, leapt and snapped at the Dementors. The Dementors fell back and glided out, the fox disappeared and Fred's head felt a lot clearer.

_Battle time._

He sent a curse at the first Death-Eater he laid eyes on. Then an invisible something hit him hard, in the chest, and he gasped, staggering. "_Incendio_!" a streak of flame leapt from his wand. The Death-Eaters robes caught fire.

George yelled. Fred whipped around and saw his twin crash into the cabinet he'd hidden behind earlier, wood splintering and glass shattering around him.

The moment of distraction should have cost Fred, but it didn't. For Lupin had now joined the fray, and he'd cursed the Death-Eater who'd tried to take advantage of Fred's inattention.

"_Reducto_!" Fred blocked the curse, threw another curse at the Death-Eater who'd sent George flying and hurried to his brother. He seemed a little daze. "_Caraceo_!" a shimmering shield encircled both of them. "You ok?"

"Yeah." George blinked, then got up, wincing a bit as he did so. "Fred. This is our shop."

"I know."

"It's _our_ shop."

It was a twin thing between them. So often they seemed to be able to read each other's minds, and Fred suddenly smiled.

"I know," he said with an entirely different meaning to before.

Suddenly the shield around them shattered. The twins were ready, though, each firing off two successive spells at two of the three remaining Death-Eaters. One of them went down with blood and boils all over him; the other crashed against the wall.

Lupin was duelling with the remaining Death-Eater. It was a fierce battle, their wands moving so fast they were blurs. George conjured up ropes to bind the three downed Death-Eaters on the floor. Fred sent an unbroken chair skidding on a collision course to the Death-Eater Lupin was duelling with. It distracted the Death-Eater sufficiently enough for Lupin to knock him out.

"Good job, you two. Now, I want you to get out of here."

Fred and George looked at each other. "Professor, this is _our_ shop," they said together.

"I know, but there's nothing you can do. Don't worry, we'll handle this," Lupin said, halfway across the room already.

"No, you don't understand," George shook his head.

"It's _our_ shop."

"_Our_ products."

"If anyone can create enough havoc …"

"Distract the Death-Eaters …"

"It's us," finished Fred.

"Too dangerous," Lupin said firmly. "Go. I mean it." And he left to the main area of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, where there was still a lot of screaming.

"We're not kids anymore," Fred said stubbornly.

"Not exactly Aurors, either," George reminded him.

"But we know what we're doing."

"Yeah – argh!"

Something heavy – it looked like the remains of the cabinet – crashed into George and sent him flying through the door Lupin had just gone through. Another Death-Eater.

Fred sent a jinx at him, which the Death-Eater blocked with ease. Hoping George was going to be alright, Fred ducked a jet of green light sent by the Death-Eater and then gasped with pain when another curse hit him – it was like he'd been stabbed – looking down he saw blood mixing with the magenta of his robes …

"_Reducto_!" he gasped. He knew where he kept the Weasleys' Wildfire Whizbangs.

_BOOM!_

Immediately the air was full of explosions and lights, and one of the Death-Eaters yelled; it seemed he'd been right next to the box went it went off. A huge Catherine wheel shot past Fred into the main area – he heard George shout before saying, "_Stupefy_!" There was a loud explosion and several yells.

_He's all right then_, Fred thought.

One of the Death-Eaters tried the same thing George had done (one of the firecrackers had been heading straight for him) – and next second he and his partner had been blasted out onto the back street outside.

Fred scrambled into the main room. A rocket shot out behind him and George muttered a Vanishing Spell – it multiplied by ten.

"Fred!"

"I'm ok," Fred winced, though he was far feeling it. He was glad to see most of the customers gone.

"The fireworks got rid of the Dementors, good eh?" George still looked worried, though.

"Yeah … do you reckon …?"

"Daydreams? Do I!" And with his wand George flung a box of Patented Daydream Charms at a Death-Eater, muttering an incantation as he did so. The Death-Eater blew up the box but it didn't stop the vacant expression that suddenly appeared in his face after that, allowing Kinsgley Shacklebolt to knock him out with a well-placed spell.

Fred was feeling rather weaker, though … he thought he could feel a warm trickle down his back, and his robes were feeling sticky.

"_Stupefy_!"

Even his voice sounded weak … George, who'd been flinging boxes of Patented Daydream Charms at Death-Eaters, now looked, alarmed, at Fred. "We have to get you out of here."

George pulled Fred up with difficulty and began making his way to the backroom. This was a bad move, though – it made them a lot more conspicuous, and he was having to block more spells.

"_Caraceo_!" George pulled his twin along. "Come on, Fred … let's get you somewhere quiet so we can Apparate!"

The shield shattered. And Fred and George were suddenly lifted off their feet and crashing into the shelves behind them. For the millionth time that day George was seeing stars before his eyes. Fred thought he heard an ominous _'crack'_ as something crashed into him, and then darkness enveloped him.

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**A/N: Muahaha. I haven't ended in a cliffie for a long time :P feels good, hehe …**

**Ok, that's got to be about my first action scene since forever … what did you think of it? Good try? Or plain boring and unexciting :( Well, either way, I loved writing that … might have gotten inspired after reading a few fanfics based on the twins, to write something with them in it :P

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**Thanks to all my reviewers, you guys rock!**

**MoonlightPrincess**

**FalconWing**

**Foxeran**

**Makayla**

**Liveandletlive**

**theLastBLACK17: **I've barely got time, myself … thus ridiculously long time between chapters!

**The Penumbra

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**Ok, I've got a challenge for you guys. Give me ten reviews for this chapter. I know you can do it :P**


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